A Feast For The Senses
by Pheonicia
Summary: Janus' involvement with the new Court Wizard of Bravil leads him through Glarthir's paranoia, the edible fauna of Cyrodiil, and ultimately, to a little fun. Enjoy!
1. Rotmeth

_Author's note: Oblivion and the Elder Scrolls are owned by Bethesda._

_This is the third fic set in the Twist of Fate universe. It is dedicated to Llarian, as without her (less than) subtle __suggestions it never would have come into being._

* * *

Taking a deep breath he tried to identify the various scents that filled the room. Woodsmoke, coming from the blazing fire under the decorated mantle; a hint of roasting meat and other seasonal delicacies wafting up from the kitchens nearby; flowers, their fragrance captured and pressed to make the light perfume of the women; and the rich note of mortality, contributed by the many different races in the salon. 

Janus smiled faintly, marveling at the unusual assortment of guests. The Empress certainly had a unique social circle, and the group she'd gathered for her 'Post Saturnalia' feast was no exception.

Yesterday's banquet had been appropriate, lovely, political, and perfectly impersonal. The various diplomats, ambassadors, and nobility staying in the Imperial City had been feted with copious amounts of food, wine, and music. It was exactly the sort of festivity an Emperor should hold.

Whereas this, well, it was something that definitely seemed far more appropriate for Lilia to be hosting. Already the odd collection of guests were chatting, their conversations not exactly what he'd expect to hear in the midst of the Palace.

"No, you've got them confused again," Delphine gently corrected Modryn, cutting off his story with a hand on the mer's arm. "The ogre was the one that ate the broom, not the troll. The troll got into the alchemy supplies. The crazed thing sprouted purple feathers - it took ages for Erthor and Athragar to pick them all up after I destroyed it for them. But they did come in handy. Softest stuffing for pillows I've ever found."

"Really?" Viera inquired politely while discreetly studying Modryn's stiff crest of hair. Janus wondered if she was musing on the same question that he did - how exactly did the mer sleep without destroying the bed?

"That's what I've always said. Vanto's third law of perception will not stop applying just because the mage hasn't heard of it." Ocato's voice attracted Janus' notice. The mer was busy speaking of esoteric magical mysteries with Hanibal Traven. Two former Arch Mages together was a slightly worrisome thought.

"Tweh." The future Empress of Tamriel tugged on Ocato's robes, small fists wrinkling the fabric. Without pausing in his conversation the Altmer bent down, scooped Makela up, and nestled her in one arm. From her high vantage point she proceeded to study the people in the room, blue eyes wide as she looked over the strangers. As she absently gnawed ineffectually at her hand a small puddle of Imperial slobber appeared on Ocato's shoulder. The mer didn't seem to notice.

Though Gwendolyn noticed, her eyes seeming to never leave her small charge. Except somehow it also seemed as if she never stopped watching Janus whenever he was around. It didn't surprise him too much that Lilia had chosen a witch from the Skeffington coven to play nursemaid to her daughter. Gwendolyn was aware of Janus' condition, and her body language made it well known that she wasn't overly pleased to have a vampire so close to her young ward. Occasionally a fit of perversity would overtake him and he'd wonder just how she would react if he suddenly bared his fangs at her. But the strange magic that floated over her, as well as Lilia's potential wrath, kept his odd impulses in check. That and it certainly wouldn't be a very dignified thing for him to do.

"Yes, that's really quite fascinating," Raminus murmured politely. The current Arch Mage didn't seem to be focusing his attention too deeply on Lyra's explanation of the inspiration for her newest piece. A small light spell flickered above his hands as they rested on the small of his back, out of view of the Imperial and her fiancé, but within sight of Makela. The little girl occasionally cooed as the light shifted through various colours and shapes. Currently a rainbow was slowly whirling around in circles.

The undertone in the giggles from the side of the room certainly held a meaning far opposite that of Makela's innocent exclamations of delight. Glancing over he saw Millona, no longer burdened with a last name, blushing slightly as she laughed at the Dunmer's joke. Synderius was standing close to her, and Janus regretted that he'd missed the mer's words. If he didn't know any better he'd swear the Gladiator was flirting with Ocato's new wife. As odd as the mer seemed he didn't appear daft enough to dare it though. At least, Janus sincerely hoped not. Lilia would surely be very distressed if Ocato vaporized any of her friends for their impudence.

"Oranges are all well and good if you like that sort of thing, but can you skin a goat with telekinesis?" The new Court Wizard of Bravil's inquiry caught his attention, and he looked over across the room in time to see her nose wrinkle slightly at the mention of oranges. "Otherwise I can't see the point of wasting magicka on _produce_."

"Hmm. Never tried skinning a goat. But I've caught more than a few criminals with it, so I'm still saying it is the most useful of all the spells." Carius replied. From what he'd heard the Watch Captain had learned quite a bit from the Arcane University.

"More useful than invisibility?" Thaeril countered. The tall Bosmer looked doubtful at the argument.

"Invisibility is like hiding in a wardrobe. Doesn't serve much purpose unless you've been up to something you shouldn't have. Or if you're hiding from the monsters under the bed."

"Do they have such things in Cyrodiil? Our monsters tend to hide in the trees," she asked anxiously. According to Fathis the mer was a recent émigré from Valenwood and still adjusting to life in the Imperial province. For the last week she'd been staying at the Palace, receiving instructions from the former Court Wizard, and getting the Dunmer into a fair bit of trouble.

"Carius, do not tell me that you've been regaling Thaeril with horror stories about the lovely province of Cyrodiil." Lilia called out as she walked over to join the man and the mer on the far side of the room.

"Lilia," the Imperial greeted her with a grin. "We've merely been having a friendly debate. Perhaps you can settle this for us. What is the most useful spell of all?"

"Easy. Detect life," she answered while surveying the salon. She nodded at Janus in greeting and gave Martin a friendly wave as he spoke quietly with Baurus over near the fireplace. Their conversation wasn't something Janus could hear - they'd used magic to keep it private.

"You're not eavesdropping on everyone, are you?" Fathis asked with a knowing grin, offering him the glass of wine he'd brought back. The two of them stood near the doorway, apart from the others.

"I would never do that. I merely have remarkable hearing," Janus answered. And a very remarkable ability to see things that no mage could. The way that Martin's body reacted when he looked at Fathis made him frown lightly. "Is she still having nightmares?"

"Yes," Fathis whispered, his eyes stealing a quick glance at his employers. "But it's not my fault no matter what Martin thinks."

Before he could question the Telvanni for the details dinner was announced.

* * *

"Just try a forkful. They're fresh - I brought them back from Morrowind." 

"They're a _vegetable_," Thaeril replied, her nose wrinkling at the orange mound on her plate. Synderius laughed at her response before resuming his attempts to persuade the Bosmer to try the ash yams.

Janus wasn't sure what he'd done to earn Lilia's disfavour - she'd sandwiched him between a carnivorous Wood Elf and the most bloodthirsty Dunmer he'd ever met. Glancing at Modryn, seated at his right, he tried to pay attention to the conversation the Dark Elf was holding with Lilia, who was beside the mer at the end of the table, and Carius.

"No, the most useful spell is Delphine's. _Enemies Explode_ is a work of art," Modryn argued.

"It's not very useful to a Watch Captain," Carius stated doubtfully.

"How could it not be? Last time Delphine and I went on contract..."

"Wait," Lilia interrupted, "Delphine joined the Fighter's Guild?"

"No." Modryn's plumage shook back and forth and Janus resisted his impulse to duck. "She comes along for research. It's rather important to know what effects the spell has on different creatures."

"I'm sure it is," Lilia murmured, her lips curling up in what Janus recognized as a restrained amused grin.

"Anyway, we had to clean out a bandit camp. You should have seen what the spell does to Khajiiti thieves. The fur starts to ripple..."

"Modryn," Lilia interrupted, having noticed the horrified expression that Millona was wearing as she stared at the Dunmer from across the table. Carius glanced over at the Imperial beside him and blanched. "Not every criminal deserves immediate and irreversible execution."

"Nonsense. That would keep the prison population under control. Think about it - it could save you a lot of septims." The Dunmer nodded sagely before biting off a chunk of his roll.

"The mutton is lovely, isn't it?" Carius inquired sheepishly, clearly embarrassed at having somehow caused the sudden disturbing turn in dinner conversation. Millona merely nodded at him in response. She was still eying Modryn warily.

"It definitely is," the warm voice with a strong trace of Valenwood beside him chimed in. Looking over he found Thaeril leaning close to him, answering a question he hadn't asked.

"Sorry, what is?"

"The mutton. What region is the recipe from?" The mer inquired. Her plate was almost devoid of meat, though the ash yams appeared to have been untouched.

"Elsweyr, I believe." For some reason both Martin and Lilia seemed to have an inordinate fondness for Khajiiti cuisine.

"Elsweyr? That can't be right. I've never tasted a combination like this before." Thaeril studied the meat, perhaps hoping that it would explain itself. But the mutton remained mute.

"I'm sure Lilia could answer your question," he added. Looking towards the end of the table did not yield the picture he'd expected. Instead of her waiting to add to the conversation, the Empress was busy chasing some wayward corn around her plate. Successful in finally capturing the elusive vegetable she brought her fork up, the movement suddenly halted when she realized that Janus and Thaeril were both politely watching her. The abrupt stop in motion caused the kernels to jump off her fork and make a desperate bid for freedom.

Freedom turning out to be her lap. Lilia grinned, blushed slightly, and brushed off her rebellious dinner.

"Praise the Nine for napkins. They've saved many a gown from an untimely end. Did you need something?"

It took Janus a few moments to remember that she wasn't a vampire anymore, and as such hadn't heard their quiet conversation. Her mortality still wasn't something he'd fully adjusted to. Especially since she'd developed a bad habit of using spells to eavesdrop on conversations, further confusing the issue of her now normal hearing.

"Where did you get the recipe for the mutton? It's very good." Thaeril inquired.

"Elsweyr," Lilia answered. Noting the Bosmer's confused look she continued. "It's from Leyawiin. Nowhere near the borders of Valenwood. Lovely flavour, isn't it? It's got a few Argonian herbs in it, which is why it tastes different than what you're used to."

"Leyawiin? That's not Elsweyr. That's Cyrodiil." Carius looked amused at the Empress' gaffe.

"Yes, it currently is." The way Lilia smiled as she answered caused Janus to sigh. She still hadn't given up her dream of returning Leyawiin to the Mane. Her pet projects were starting to take on a life of their own. Though he had to admit so far she'd done a masterful job of not letting her personal agendas become common knowledge. He only knew because she'd drawn him into her plots, seeking his advice on some very sensitive political matters, as well as asking for guidance on the best forms of subtle manipulation. The woman could be quite devious when she wanted to.

"How are you enjoying Cyrodiil?" Synderius, seated on the other side of Thaeril, asked the new Court Wizard. As she turned to answer him Janus became aware of just how much the mer had been invading his personal space. Bosmer were such a strange lot, as he knew from personal experience. Skingrad was positively crawling with them.

"It's very different. I mean, the houses are made with _stone_," she whispered the word as if passing on a shocking revelation. "I haven't seen a single building that's been grown yet."

"I've never been to Silvenar. Is it really a giant flower?" Millona inquired from across the table.

"You could describe it that way. It's sap, actually, that's been magically hardened to form everything. The most beautiful building is the palace. When the sun hits it right it glows like rubies," Thaeril answered wistfully. She placed her right elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her palm. Janus pondered how to cut his meat without bumping her - she was settled so far to the side of her plate she was almost touching his. Perhaps the new Court Wizard had a drinking problem, resulting in her odd behaviour. Though he'd not noticed her imbibing too much wine. But then he wasn't familiar enough with Wood Elves to know how much would be too much.

"The palace? Have you met the Silvenar? How is he?" Millona asked.

"She."

"She? Last I heard he was a he," Millona stated. A small frown of concentration was on her face, causing her lower lip to stick out in a very childish fashion.

"She just changed recently," Synderius added helpfully. "No need to hide that beautiful smile by thinking on it."

Millona blushed at the comment and Janus quickly glanced down the table. Fortunately Ocato was too busy engaging Fathis in conversation, their mutual coolness forgotten as they employed a desperate strategy to keep Lyra from starting up with her newest piece. Lilia's crazy Dunmer friend wouldn't be vaporized yet. But he was definitely flirting with Ocato's wife, and sudden death.

"What does she look like?" Janus asked. The Silvenar was another one of those odd Bosmeri institutions. They maintained that the Silvenar was a physical representation of the population and desires of Valenwood, and as such would change form, gender, and age depending on the collective mood. Most Imperials refused to believe them, instead attributing the rumours to the Wood Elves' odd sense of humour.

"Young, beautiful, and hopeful. When I last saw her she was laughing," Thaeril answered with a smile. Her leg bumped against his and he again wondered what was wrong with the mer. She was having a terrible time controlling her limbs and keeping a respectable distance.

"Oh my, I almost forgot!" Lilia exclaimed from the end of the table. Several bottles, filled with a dark brown liquid, floated from the sideboard and on to the dining room table.

"Rotmeth," she explained, noticing the curious looks her sudden actions had caused. "The Silvenar sent some recently and I've been saving it for now. That's what the liqueur glasses are for."

Janus grabbed a nearby bottle and opened it. Thaeril eagerly asked for him to fill her glass, causing him to suspect that perhaps she was indeed intoxicated. After serving Millona he poured a small amount for himself. It smelt very _odd_.

"Are we supposed to do anything to it?" Martin asked from the other end of the table, suspiciously sniffing his glass.

"No. All you need to do is drink it. Cheers!" Lilia answered.

Janus toasted, but hesitated to drink. Watching the reactions of the others at the table he really wasn't sure if he should or not. Thaeril was murmuring in approval, Lilia had closed her eyes as she savoured the taste, Millona made a small noise of shock and put her glass quickly down, and Carius was trying not to cough.

"Just try it. It's very fresh," Thaeril urged him as she reached for the bottle to refill her glass. Figuring that if she could handle it, then he may as well take an experimental sip.

The flavour was nothing like he'd expected. Sweet, salty, tangy, spicy, and..._meaty_. It was vaguely disturbing and yet horrifyingly refreshing.

"What is it?" Martin asked loudly. "Are you sure it hasn't gone off?"

Thaeril made a little squeak of protest, but Janus was too busy watching Lilia's shocked expression to pay attention.

"Off? Are you mad? This is the best rotmeth I've ever had! You can still taste the goat," the Empress protested.

"The what?" Now it was Ocato's turn to ask a very loud question. Most of the dinner guests were openly regarding their glasses with traces of horror.

"The goat. It's made from fermented meat juices," Lilia explained, sounding a bit defensive.

"Umm, meat doesn't have juice," Carius pointed out. "Not unless you count blood..."

By the way Lilia was studiously avoiding the Imperial's questioning look Janus knew that was exactly what she'd meant by meat 'juice.' By the Nine, leave it to the Bosmers to make alcohol from _blood_.

"Fermented blood?" Raminus asked with a smile. The Arch Mage was refilling his glass. "How do they remove the poisonous effects?"

"The spices. They act like a small cure poison potion," Thaeril explained. "It's perfectly harmless to drink. Other than the alcohol."

Oh yes, only the Bosmers would make potentially poisonous alcoholic blood potion and then serve it as a delicacy. They really were the most unusual of all the races, and the mer beside him was no exception. Janus wasn't sure what was wrong with her, but her knee was pressed against his and her shoulder pushing into his arm as she reached over for the bottle in front of him. Why she wasn't grabbing the rotmeth in front of Synderius he couldn't begin to imagine.

* * *

"Can you believe it? An ebony mace. She isn't even a year old!" Lilia chuckled at the remembrance. "When I pointed that out Modryn told me that by the time she could lift it she'll be ready to learn. Ebony! It weighs more than she does." 

Janus laughed. He was seated on the sofa beside the Empress, listening to her chat about the more unusual of the Saturnalia presents her family had received.

"Lilia, I've written a new poem, and I think you might like it. It's a love sonnet..." Lyra's voice came from behind him and he almost flinched in surprise. And worry. Commander Lex's fiancée, while a very sweet woman, had to be the worst poetess he'd ever encountered. But he couldn't flee now - that would be far too rude. Lilia didn't seem to be worried though. Her body was remarkably calm even though she'd been effectively cornered.

"Lyra, come here. I've got a confession to make," Lilia whispered, indicated for the woman to lean in. The familiar smile on the Empress' lips worried him a little.

"What is it?" Lyra asked happily. The atmosphere was very much that of one schoolgirl sharing a secret with another. He felt a little like an interloper.

"There's really only one person on Nirn that I like hearing poetry from," Lilia answered. Her hand was discreetly pointing to Martin, where he sat oblivious on the other side of the room chatting happily with Hanibal, Viera, and Millona. "It's a quirk of mine. Too bad he hasn't learned any new pieces lately..."

"I'll see what I can do," Lyra replied with a wink before heading off towards the unsuspecting Emperor.

"That's not very nice," Janus scolded her once Lyra was safely out of range.

"It's his own fault. I keep telling him about the importance of half-truths and evasions, but he's just so bloody honest. Maybe this will teach him a lesson," she retorted, smiling wickedly as she watched Martin's flustered reaction to Lyra's commanding presence. Hanibal, Baurus, and Millona discreetly scattered, leaving the Emperor stranded.

"You've been planning that for a while now, haven't you?" He asked. She nodded in response.

"Since the Warrior Festival. Having to listen to _Cling Clang, the Weapons Rang _made me determined to never experience that again. If I've done it right then Lyra probably won't recite poetry around me in future," Lilia replied happily, well pleased with her cunning plan. "Though the same can't be said for Martin. But he really does need to learn how to handle these situations, especially since we'll be headed to Morrowind next. King Helseth will eat him alive if he's not careful."

"You'll be with him at all times?"

"Of course. I'm not about to let him face any heads of the Houses alone. I'm really looking forward to seeing Master Fyr again. And I can't believe I'm going to meet Barenziah." Her eyes lit up as she discussed the famed Dunmer Queen, before widening with confusion. "Why are you laughing?"

"I have no doubt that at least half of the Tamrielic nobility thinks the same way about meeting you and Martin," he explained. "Don't forget you two are currently the most famous people in the Empire."

"Thank you very much," she said tartly. "I actually was forgetting that for a brief moment. All night I've been nothing but Lilia, relaxing with my friends, not worrying about the fact that everyone can recognize me, even if I've never met them before."

Her sudden diatribe stopped and she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit cranky right now, that's all. Lack of sleep." She quickly looked at him and waved her hand to cut off his words. "We will not speak of that."

"What would you like to speak of?"

"Dwarves," she murmured, and he wasn't sure if she was actually answering his question or not.

"The Dwemer? I'm not too familiar with them. Their disappearance is said to be a mystery..."

"It's not a mystery, it's Raminus' fault," she replied, glancing over at the group in the far corner. Several of those who'd enjoyed the rotmeth had begun singing Saturnalia songs. Well, they'd started with Saturnalia songs, but the choice of ballad had quickly changed. "I can't believe he forgot the verse about the dwarf. If you'll excuse me, I simply can't allow this to continue."

Janus nodded, watching as she stalked over to them, demanding that they start singing _The Lonely Farmer's Daughter and Her Magic Carrot_ from the beginning. Between her enthusiastic if unrefined voice, and Lyra's constant repetition of her sonnet, Janus contemplated that vampirism certainly could be considered a curse at times.


	2. Milk

The candles had burned low in their holders, the fire in the fireplace rebuilt several times, and some of the guests had already headed off for home.

"Daedroth. Happened during the Battle of Bruma. You can touch them if you like," Synderius murmured, and Janus tried not to notice that the mer's shirt was practically off. The Dunmer had been a bit disappointed when Ocato had finally removed his blushing bride from the room, but had quickly focused his attentions on Thaeril instead.

"Hmm. Who was your healer? They did a terrible job," she answered, poking the bite marks none too gently. "Pitiful."

"Hlaalu," Fathis leaned over and whispered to Janus. The tone of the Telvanni's voice indicated that Synderius' House affiliation somehow explained everything. "The crazy kind."

"Hmph. Telvanni are not exactly known for their mental stability," Janus replied archly. The mer beside him chuckled, then quieted down when he noticed Martin looking at him.

"It was _not_ my fault. Even she agrees with me," Fathis muttered irritably, waving a hand over to Lilia. The Empress was sitting in an armchair, eyes closed, seemingly listening to the conversations around her. An illusion, as she was soundly asleep.

The loud snore she suddenly emitted, combined with the laughter that caused, woke her from her doze.

"That's one way of drawing the evening to a close. Probably not the most politically savvy method," Martin teased her, bending over to kiss the top of her head. "Let's get you to bed."

"No, stay here," she replied, glancing discreetly at Baurus. "I'll head off on my own. No need to end things early just because of me."

"Alone?" Martin didn't sound happy with the idea. Lilia shook her head, and the smile she gave Janus as she did caused him to stand up and walk over towards her.

"Janus will escort me," she answered while slowly rising out of the chair, her movements clumsy with fatigue. "He always did like to take me for walks."

"You always needed them," Janus added. Standing back he watched as she said goodnight to the few remaining guests, again very aware of her mortality. For the first few months he'd known her she'd never been tired, and it was still odd to see her being so very_ alive_. He still occasionally thought of her as undead. It could be so hard to dispel first impressions.

"Is there any particular reason you wanted to get me alone?" He asked as they strolled through the corridors. She was leading him down instead of up, but he didn't protest. The stubborn woman rarely yielded on anything.

"No. Yes. Maybe," she replied, stepping out of the way of a fire elemental as she did. Fathis had changed his guards for the winter season. "Nothing political, don't worry."

"Why are you taking me to the kitchens? Even in your condition I can't see you needing a snack after that feast." His statement caused her to pause and study him briefly, before grinning with delight.

"You can see them?"

"Yes. When will I meet them?"

"Fifteenth of Sun's Height. I'm trying to convince them to show up on the twentieth in time for Sun's Rest instead. It's ever so much easier to remember birthdays when they land on holidays," Lilia answered. Their discussion was interrupted by the few kitchen staff still cleaning up after the meal. She greeted them by name and chatted with them while collecting a small pot, two mugs, and two ingredients.

"They really appreciate that. Treating them as people rather than furniture," he told her as they started their climb back up the tower. Living in the Palace must provide plenty of exercise just moving around. There were so many levels - it was the highest structure in Cyrodiil after all.

"I know. That's why we try and make it a point to learn their names. I still remember being nothing more than 'the diplomat's daughter' or 'you, girl' when growing up. You don't want to know what disgruntled cooks will do to their employer's food." Lilia shook her head at the remembrance.

"Where to now?"

"The nursery. I want to check on Makela. She's hit that stage where she's worried by strangers, and even people she knows but doesn't see often tend to fall into that category. Gwendolyn has been a great help. I can't imagine doing all of that traveling without her."

"Ocato looks like he helps out too." Janus' observation made her laugh.

"I don't know what it is about him, but she adores him. When she was still a babe and prone to fussing he'd simply need to pick her up and she'd calm down. Half of our meetings were spent with her in his arms, and him using telekinesis to shuffle parchments about while trying to remain dignified. The poor mer."

"Is she talking yet?" He asked, unsure at what point babies started doing things. That was one area he really wasn't knowledgeable in.

"Some. She's trying to say words, but she's not connecting them to things yet. At least, not much." Lilia paused and glanced around the hallway before continuing. "I think she's named Ocato."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she uses the sound on various things, but almost always on him. She calls him Tweh," she snickered. "I think I know what she's trying to say. Swear you won't repeat this to him."

"I give you my word," Janus replied, very curious as to what she was about to reveal.

"Good. I strongly suspect she's calling him _tree_. We were in the Arboretum a couple of weeks ago, and Martin was pointing at things and saying their names. When he pointed up at a tree she suddenly got all excited. After that she started calling Ocato Tweh. Though she's also called Gwendolyn, Martin, me, and a stray cat the same thing."

Janus chuckled, briefly regretting that he was an honourable man. The idea of telling the dignified High Chancellor that the future Empress of Tamriel was calling him _Tree_ was incredibly amusing.

"Hold these. And try not to make any sudden moves." She handed him her borrowed items before heading into the nursery. The instructions weren't necessary - Janus was more than aware of Gwendolyn's wariness of him. As it was she was currently watching him as if he were a wild animal, poised to attack at any time. He debated holding a staring contest with her before resigning himself to standing by the door, as far as he could get from Makela.

Satisfied that her daughter was sleeping soundly, and after a quick chat with Gwendolyn, Lilia rescued Janus from further scrutiny. The Breton's stares were a bit unnerving - it was as though she could see into him. Witches had a very strange magic, one that he wasn't overly comfortable with.

Lilia didn't say anything, obviously lost in thought, and he walked quietly with her towards her nearby suite. He was rather surprised at the furnishings - not a piece matched, and there were some odd stains and what looked like burnt patches on the sofas by the fireplace. The most worrisome part was the melted appearance of the iron four poster bed that he could glimpse in the next room. For some reason the shafts of metal were drooping. Which didn't make any sense, unless they'd been subjected to some intense heat...

"I'll take those, thanks," Lilia retrieved the kitchen items from him. She set them down on the low table near the fireplace as the logs suddenly burst into flames. It still surprised him when she cast spells without moving. Arranging herself on her slightly wobbly sofa she looked down at the table as Janus sat himself across from her in a tall armchair that appeared to be the sturdiest piece of furniture in the room.

"Is that blood?" The dark red stain he noticed on the ceiling captured his attention.

"Grape jam. Stains terribly," she explained absently as she began mixing her ingredients in the pot using telekinesis.

"Sheep's milk and honey?" He asked, surprised by the combination.

"Old Solstheim recipe. Tastes best with bear milk, but the West Weald bears _really_ don't appreciate being milked. Sheep's milk works well enough, but it just doesn't have the same tang."

"You really do have terrible taste in beverages," he joked. "How did you end up liking rotmeth?"

"Whenever my family stayed in Valenwood we used to follow the meat mandate. It took some getting used to, but now I really enjoy it. That, and it always makes me think of sunshine, the sea, and carefree days." Lilia had a very wistful expression as she reminisced. "It's funny how little things like taste and smell can do what magic can't - take you back in time."

"I thought mysticism could."

The magically swirling milk splashed slightly from the sudden shake of the floating pot. She set it down on the table, frowning deeply as she did.

"Sort of. I suppose Fathis told you all about it," she sighed heavily, grabbing a nearby pillow and setting it on her lap. The lack of eye contact worried him a little.

"No. He wasn't able to tell me anything besides the fact that it wasn't his fault, and that you're still having nightmares. Did you want to talk about it?"

During her hesitation he watched the way her body reacted, inner emotions swirling within, her face impassive as she absently twirled one tasseled corner of the velvet pillow. The internal debate raged on, heart beating slightly quicker, breaths deeper and faster, almost as if preparing for battle.

"Maybe. Maybe it will help. Do you remember when I disappeared in Sancre Tor?" A quiet question, asked to the crimson velvet.

"Of course." No explanation had ever really been told to him as to why that had occurred, but he hadn't pressed. The woman had secrets he didn't want to know. Especially not after he'd started figuring out what some of them might be...

"I was...lost in there. Lost to memories and magic. Lost to past history, violent betrayal, endless longing. There were images and knowledge not meant for mortal eyes, and the truth of them remains something I'd rather not know." Her hands were now tugging on opposite corners, fabric stretched taut as she wound the tassels round and round.

"It wasn't his fault." A sudden shake of the head emphasized her words. "It was my idea. I wanted to show off. Why not? Who could resist scrying the table in the Elder Council chambers, where so many have sat and spoken, great leaders of the ages leaving their imprint through the mists of time."

Janus waited, watching as the pillow continued to be stretched, twisted, and otherwise abused. Lilia didn't seem to be in the present anymore, lost in thoughts he wasn't quite able to follow. By the time one of the tassels had fallen off he figured he should gently prod her to continue.

"What did you see?"

"Death," she answered, words thick and dark, sodden tears falling onto the tormented fabric in her hands. "The fall of a hero, the fall of a villain. Cut into eight, torrents of blood running into the divot in the center, the joyous revels of wicked mer all around."

Another pause, the only sound the beating of her heart, the hiss of burning logs, and the slight ripping of the velvet.

"Pelinal Whitestrake, mer-killer, slaughtered by the Ayleids. Who knew the table was that old..." Trailing off again, the tear in the cushion getting bigger.

"I don't know. I don't want to know. Who he is, who he was, and what part the Aedra played in it all. These are not things for me to contemplate. I've had enough of it, done enough second guessing of the Divines, seen enough of their faces to know that I could never know," she was getting more animated now. The pillow was tossed unceremoniously into the fire and she finally looked at him. He suddenly felt so young - her face seemed to hint at more wisdom and secrets then he could even hope to name, let alone possess.

"It's not those memories that plague me, but my own. It took me back to Sancre Tor, back to the darkest place I've ever been. Stories of Pelinal were told to me there, whispers that do not bear repeating. They were but a mere note in the chorus of evil I became lost in. I made peace with myself since, accepted the things I've done as much as I can. So many things..." She looked away to the pot on the low table, magically raising it once more. Her body wasn't calm yet, but her chin was tilted up, her telltale posture of defiance.

"But that doesn't mean I don't worry about the future, wonder how I can possibly hope to raise a child to run an Empire. And now there are two more on the way, and time keeps marching on." Magical fire warmed the milk, the liquid bubbling with the heat. The sweet fragrance of honey perfumed the room. Dividing the contents between the mugs she floated one over to him and one to herself.

"The dream is always the same. Lying on the table, rivers of blood pouring from me, and the sudden silence as I lose my unborn sons. Every night the same horror, the brief moment of panic as I listen and pray," she was speaking quietly to the fire. The long pause to sip the warm drink was more likely a way to maintain composure than the quenching of thirst.

"I always hear them, but there's that brief moment where I'm not sure if they've gotten quieter since I last paid attention. My mind hears their spark whispering themselves into existence, but I just wish I could see them. Funny how I do miss that one gift out of all that vampirism bestowed."

"I can see them," he offered. The two small bright violet lights, twinkling out from her own shifting glow, were amazing to see. Life, coming into being before his eyes.

"I know," Lilia smiled at him. "That's why I asked you here. I'd like to try and see them too. But I need your help, and your permission."

"How?"

"Hold my hand, stare at them, and let me see through your eyes. I promise I won't try to poke around in your mind, or let you into mine. We both have enough shared secrets already," she answered while stretching out one ringed hand to him. As he moved over to join her, setting the mug back down, Janus briefly contemplated that was probably the closest she'd ever come to acknowledging what he'd seen in Cheydinhal. There was no question that she greatly hoped he'd agree to her request.

As he got settled, remarking on how warm her hand felt now, she gave him soft instructions. _Try not to fight it _- that was a somewhat worrisome one. Certainly didn't help with _try to relax_.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing slowed, and he focused on watching the two little pinpoints of energy. A gentle pressure settled over his mind and he tried not to push it away. The sensation was so very unique, something he'd never before experienced.

And suddenly it was gone, the presence removed to leave his thoughts alone. Lilia was crying now, tears of relief and happiness as she held him in a hug and murmured words of thanks to the Gods and to him over and over again.

Janus wasn't entirely sure what to do. This was the first time in years, in _decades_, where he'd had so much physical contact. Even in all the time he'd known her Lilia had never hugged him before, and she had a terrible habit of hugging everyone.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she muttered as she released him. He wasn't sure if the apology was meant for the dampness on his coat or her unexpected embrace. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's quite alright," he replied, rising from the sofa. She was grinning now - he hadn't seen her so happy in weeks. Wearing that ridiculous smile of hers she walked him to the door.

"Thank you. You're more of a friend and source of comfort than you can know," she murmured while patting his arm as she bid him farewell.

"Good night, and pleasant dreams," he replied. It was strange that the formerly undead daughter of a dead diplomat had become one of his closest confidantes, a shared understanding between them strengthened by unspoken memories.

"I think they will be," she answered while closing the door behind him. Janus was left standing alone in the cold ancient corridors, her mortal scent still lingering on his clothes.


	3. Tea

Peony. It had to be peony. Though there were very familiar lavender undertones.

Taking one final sniff, satisfied with the analysis, he tossed the heavy brocade coat into the hamper. It would need to be laundered _thoroughly_ in order to get the fragrances out. And there were so many scents that he could detect.

Milk and honey. Peony and lavender. Rotmeth and mutton. Mortality and tears.

As he drew the bath, watching the water froth, jostling for space in the deep tub, he realized that he still could smell her on him, though he'd left his garments in the other room. _He_ would have to be laundered thoroughly to get the scents off.

Not that they were particularly bad. But they were unnerving - something Lilia had a terrible habit of doing to him.

Sinking down into the warm water he closed his eyes and felt the soothing heat coiling through his limbs, the buoyancy that lifted his body and his spirit. Janus could use some uplifting right now, as he tried to order his thoughts into their compartments.

He was now certain his guess had been correct, though he didn't feel at all pleased to be right in this one instance.

_Assassin_.

The Empress had been a member of the Dark Brotherhood. The details were something he did not know, nor did he ever wish to hear. But there had been no other explanation for the ghastly scene he'd encountered in the dank stone halls under Cheydinhal.

The smell had been overwhelming as he'd descended the well and so he'd simply stopped breathing, years of concentrated focus snapping the instant that he'd realized just what it was that he was smelling. And then to see it...

He'd been curious. She'd not warned him away from exploring, but her curt instructions to go to the room at the end of the sloped hallway and come back told him that she didn't want him going anywhere else. But when he'd caught sight of the mildewed banners, mold eating away the edges of the fabric, one dark hand print still visible in the center, he'd been unable to help himself. He'd needed to know.

Empty rooms, rats and insects, and thick cobwebs had been all he'd initially found. Until he'd gone down the other hallway that sloped away, leading to living quarters, though all who'd occupied it for months had been dead.

Six bodies, rotten and dark, left alone by the rodents and bugs who knew better than to eat poison, even second hand. A space on one bench, aged stain of blood absorbed into the wood, far more mouldering food on the plate before it than the others. And a solitary chair at the end set with nothing but a single glass.

With a slightly stronger light spell he was able to see the dark marks of old blood as it dripped away from the assassinated assassins, back up to the main hall, and down the sloping hallway, leading to a scene he'd not wanted to ever see.

A pile of ash, a silver dagger, and droplets of blood decorating the worn flagstones set in the ground. A dark scorch mark on the table where a candle had burnt itself out into the heavy wood. And a bed, mattress stained with an unmistakable brown mark. He'd not been able to resist, horrified and yet still desperately curious, and he'd bent over and sniffed.

Just once, but it had been enough. The scent was easily identifiable, unique, one of a kind. Her scent. Her room. Her vampire's ashes.

Who he was, or what he was, had never been revealed. But the men's clothes in the dresser on the other side of the room, not a coarse fabric in the bunch, confirmed it. And so he'd come to guess at just how Lilia had understood exactly what it had meant to him when she'd brought the cure.

But he'd not initially believed that she'd been a member of the assassins, theorizing that perhaps she'd not known, or she'd been captive, or one of many other scenarios. Though they tended to fall apart when he tried to fit the evidence in that room together, the obvious signs that her life had come almost to an end, and yet it had been the one that had saved her who'd died.

One offhand remark that Fathis made, a comment about her fanciful tales of Shadowscale training and larch switches, had finally solved the puzzle. She'd not been the maid, or the prisoner, or the cook. She'd been one of them.

He sighed, reaching for a carved soap. Whatever she'd done she'd paid her penance - he knew that the Gods blessed her and that she was firm in her faith in them. Her life was so different now from that underground hell, filled with motherhood and love and sunshine. He would not question it, nor would he begrudge her peace. He was not exactly in a position to judge.

The fragrance of lavender blossomed out from the lather, bringing with it warm summer breezes, perfumed by the purple flowers that grew in abundance around Skingrad. He reveled in it, in the warm water that caressed his skin, in the pleasing sight of the black marble tiles of his bathroom, polished so that he could almost fancy that the thin milky white veins floated on top of the surface, flotsam in a pond that stretched away into infinity.

All he would need was a fine glass of wine and some sweet melody and he'd be completely cocooned in luxury. He was a hedonist, as sensual as a vampire could be.

He frowned, rinsing the film of soap from his skin. The water cradled him in layer of comforting heat, and for a brief moment he couldn't help comparing it to an actual embrace, to the touch of another. Was this merely his form of substitution? Did he swath himself in decadent pleasures to make up for the ones he couldn't have?

The water felt a bit too slippery as he stepped out, his robe somehow too soft. Recognizing the restlessness that plagued him once more he smiled to himself as he stepped into his opulent bedroom. What a very typical gift for her to give him - unsettled thoughts and hints of self doubt. Surely this too would pass, just like the previous occasions.

Though climbing into bed, silken sheets wrapped tight around him, he couldn't help wondering why he'd chosen such a large bed when there was only him to sleep in it.

* * *

"A visitor?" Janus asked, bemused at the idea. No one came to visit uninvited. Hal-Liurz nodded, fin piercings rattling as she did. 

"Yes, the new Court Wizard of Bravil. She says she's met you," the Argonian answered, unsure of what she should have done with the unexpected guest. "She's in the Great Hall - I haven't told her if you are in or not, merely that I would check and see."

"Very good," he praised her. At least she didn't run around telling people that while he was in residence he simply didn't want to see them. Mercator had been a bit of an embarrassment towards the end. "You may show her up. Take the long way."

Hal-Liurz left the salon, heading back to retrieve the Bosmer. What she was doing in Skingrad he couldn't imagine - he'd teleported away from the Palace last night after his meeting with Lilia, and now the new Court Wizard of Bravil had suddenly shown up in his city the very next day.

Glancing around, certain that his salon was fit for visitors, he tried to come up with various scenarios that would require her to meet with him. Just as he'd begun pondering the implications of the proximity of Valenwood to Elsweyr she finally arrived. As they exchanged greetings she stared openly around his room, taking in the various pieces of art and decorations, making little noises of appreciation at them.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He asked as he set down the tray he'd been fixing while he'd answered questions about the tapestries on the wall. "I doubt Master Aren sent you here merely to enjoy my private collection of art."

"Fathis didn't send me. Though your art is remarkable. Who is the painting of in the Great Hall? Your son? He's very handsome," the mer complimented while studying the food in front of her. She didn't seem to approve of that anywhere near as much as the portrait.

"The painting is of myself, done many years ago," he corrected her. Now she was studying him, brown eyes looking him over, a smile on her lips.

"Of course it is. No wonder it seemed to be an imitation of the original," Thaeril answered cheerily.

"Tea?" Janus inquired, while noting that the mer certainly didn't appear to be suffering from a hangover. After the way she'd acted last night he'd have expected her to be in a sorry state, but instead she appeared as bright, chipper, and...Bosmeri as could be.

"Is it made from _leaves_?" Disdain dripped from the word in the same way she'd scorned produce last night. He'd forgotten that she apparently still lived by the meat mandate, though it didn't apply in Cyrodiil. But it was a way of life to some Wood Elves, and Thaeril seemed to fall into the category of mer who considered vegetable matter to be nothing short of suspicious.

"What else would it be made of?" He couldn't help asking.

"Lots of things. Mutton tea's my favourite. I'm surprised you don't drink that instead. It would be more fitting for a vampire," she replied. While she didn't hesitate to name him for what he was, nor did she seem at all nervous about his undead state, he did not appreciate the casual use of the word.

"In future I would ask that you not use that term unless absolutely necessary," he stated coldly. She had the good grace to look embarrassed at his reprimand. "Discretion is essential in your new role. I would suggest you remember that."

Thaeril nodded, sandy hair brushing her shoulders with the movement. This was not Fathis or Lilia on the sofa across from him – she was something new and potentially dangerous. Even though Raminus was being rather cordial to him, Janus still didn't trust the Mages Guild not to make mistakes. His continued existence was not something he wanted to leave to the guidance of the Council.

"Now was there something that necessitated your trip to Skingrad?" He asked, controlled note of formality behind his words. He would have to have a word with Fathis. The Battlemage should have given Thaeril better instructions regarding the political life of Cyrodiil. While she was somewhat better mannered than Lilia had been at their first meeting, she was still behaving remarkably relaxed around him.

"I've brought correspondence from the Imperial City," she offered, extending two small notes. One was sealed with the stylized initials 'MS' set inside a diamond. The other one was sealed in a way he did not approve of. But no matter how much he argued the point she refused to be dissuaded from using it for her personal correspondence – the fluffy outline of a sheep centered inside a large tiger lily was impressed firmly into the sealing wax.

He merely arched an eyebrow in unspoken inquiry. They had magical means of communicating with him. Parchment was physical, vulnerable to spies, and unnecessary. Thaeril didn't seem to understand the question behind his look though, and instead frowned back at him.

"The Emperor and Empress sent you to hand deliver their letters? It's very generous of you to travel so far to act as courier, especially since they could have made use of many other methods of communication," he stated dryly.

"Oh, no," Thaeril quickly explained. "It wasn't until I told them that I was traveling here this morning that they asked me to take their notes with me. Lilia suggested that I stop in to see you. Though she did warn me about the _tea_..."

The mer was still warily eying the cup in front of her. While he'd noticed that she'd not even tried it, she hadn't needed to mention that Lilia didn't care for it. Janus sighed softly, a bit annoyed with Thaeril. Her ability to remain discreet and keep secrets was something he had begun questioning seriously. If he truly felt that she was incapable of handling the sensitive information she'd be given then he'd have her removed from her post. There were ways of accomplishing such things even if he didn't have a seat on the Mages Council...

"What does bring you to Skingrad?" He asked. She still hadn't explained the purpose behind her presence in his city.

"Visiting my cousin. Well, he's not really a cousin. He's my second cousin on my mother's side, through marriage," Thaeril answered happily. That didn't narrow it down at all – it seemed as though every Bosmer was related to the other. The running joke was that was why the mer didn't need last names; they were all one giant family on their father's side through marriage.

"Uuras?" He guessed, potentially seeing a resemblance in the point of her nose. Though most Wood Elves tended to look fairly similar, lending credibility to the fanciful jest.

"No. Glarthir," she replied. That certainly explained a few things, such as Thaeril's odd behaviour at dinner. Thinking further about it he realized it didn't. If she wasn't related to him by blood then her quirks couldn't be part of the family tree.

"Mmm." The noncommittal murmur seemed to be the most appropriate response to that statement. What did one say to the cousin by marriage of Skingrad's most insane resident? _I'm sorry_ was far too inflammatory, and _good luck_ perhaps a bit cruel.

"His mum asked me to check up on him when I left Silvenar. He's stopped writing her lengthy notes, and his secret codes have changed. That's always a clear indication that someone's gotten to him again," she elaborated.

"Spies?" Janus asked, sure that he didn't need to. Glarthir's groundless paranoia was legendary amongst the guards. The first thing a recruit learned was that they weren't to look suspiciously at the Wood Elf, as that would only make him act even more suspicious.

"What?" Thaeril looked at him as if he'd suddenly gone daft. "Spies? No, _romance_. It always makes him a bit squirrelly."

Oh, this was not a topic he wanted to explore in further detail. He couldn't begin to imagine _who_, or _what_, the mer would be wanting to romance.

"Ah. Then I shouldn't keep you from your family duties any longer," he stated while standing, the meeting over. She rose, a bit confused by the abrupt end of their conversation. "Thank you for delivering the letters. I shall show you out."

"Oh, a personally guided tour of your castle. I'd like that very much," she said as she reached out for the arm that he hadn't planned on offering. He was not about to play curator to a Bosmer with a bad habit of touching him.

"Time does not permit such luxuries," he stated while guiding her towards the hallway. As he led her towards the direct exit to the courtyard he came to the horrifying realization that the mer was _flirting_ with him. Her fingers were trying to curl around his as she pressed against his side. Either that or she was suffering from collywobbles, but the way she was smiling in what he assumed was meant to be a beguiling fashion left no room for argument. Collywobbles left you clumsy in your movements, not soft in the mind.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway she tried to position herself in front of him, and with a speed she hadn't expected he managed to gently maneuver her outside, bid her farewell, and close the door. He was quite certain she'd been about to give him a _hug_.

Staring at the thick oak, watching her purple figure on the other side hesitate briefly before turning to go, he wondered how on earth Raminus had managed to choose an insane Bosmer as the new Court Wizard of Bravil.

Trying not to think of her, and also pretending not to notice the scent of her that clung to his arm, he moved back to the warm salon to read his correspondence. Settling down near the fire he pried open Martin's note first. The fragrance of leather, horse, and mer clung to the parchment – Thaeril must have kept the notes in her saddlebag.

_Thank you._

So then last night had been a peaceful night. Reaching for the other note he could smell the whisper of peonies that danced about it, the fragrance of Lilia's favoured perfume.

_Your choice was a wise one that I could not have made. Praise the Nine you did. Thank you._

He snorted, the words conjuring up memories of her, insolently draped on his sofa, vehemently denouncing anyone who chose to live as a vampire as a fool. That had been over two years ago, the meeting in which she'd agreed to get a cure made for him.

His world had been knocked out of orbit with her arrival, but he'd managed to set it straight. Rona was finally at peace, and he was finally at peace.

So the sudden restlessness he was experiencing, combined with the desire not to think of the strange mer who'd just visited, worried him greatly.


	4. Bread

Pacing! Oh no, this simply would not do.

Janus caught himself walking up and down the length of his throne room. The torches had not been lit, and he stood in the murky gloom, vaguely able to see the outlines of the steps and furniture.

Pacing was for those who could not control their feelings. For those who were unused to maintaining an illusion of calm at all times, even when their world was crumbling out from underneath them. Pacing was for the easily excitable, the weak, the dramatists.

No, he did not pace. He was merely feeling energetic. Perhaps a walk would help. Surely it couldn't hurt.

As he gathered his heavy cloak he couldn't help thinking once more about Thaeril. She was actually interested in him. Her deplorable behaviour at dinner, and her overly familiar visit with him yesterday, made her intentions thoroughly clear.

But nothing could come of it. Could it? Janus chuckled to himself at the concept. As if he'd take up with an imp of a Bosmer. No, even Fathis wouldn't suggest something like that, not even as a joke.

But what to do about it? Pulling on his gloves, he pondered the options. He could avoid her, though that was the cowardly way of doing things. Have her dismissed, which certainly wouldn't be the most honourable method. Talking to her would probably be best, but the last thing he wanted was to deal with any more tears. He'd had enough of those recently.

Stepping out onto the wooden balcony that ringed the courtyard he once more tried to push away the thoughts of Thaeril that floated about his mind. Wood Elves were the strangest creatures. She simply had to be mad. Though he couldn't argue her taste in men. At least she had that going for her.

He breathed deeply, the chill air biting at the inside of his nose. It was a cold day, and snow sat heavily upon the ground. Janus set out along the path that ran the perimeter of his city, noting the familiar contours of the hills around him challenged by the presence of competing snow drifts.

Walking along the well-used road, footprints, hoof prints, and cart tracks marking the way for him, he listened to the silent serenity of winter. The occasional bird, still fat from autumn berries, sang out a sweet note of warmer days. Janus began to calm as he made his way towards the west gate, a slight smile playing at his lips.

Tamika's vineyard was in a flurry of activity, workers retying the plants to the wooden supports. From the curses he could hear it was due to the poor quality twine they'd initially used, some of it having already rotten away in the fall rains. He was proud of his citizens, of the hard work and tender care that they devoted to making Skingrad a center of agricultural excellence in the heart of the Imperial province.

Walking past the Grateful Pass Stables he noticed an invisible figure apparently watching the labourers, stealing glances from behind the building. A quick sniff confirmed his suspicions.

Thaeril.

He may as well speak with her sooner than later. Janus approached, quiet footsteps muffled in the heavy snow.

"Greetings Wizard. I hope..."

"Shh." She hissed at him, one invisible hand flapping at him to quiet. The Bosmer didn't even bother turning to look at him, instead choosing to peer out at the winery. Perhaps she was embarrassed at her previous behaviour.

"Sometimes things can be overwhelming in a new environment, and you find yourself looking for someone..."

"Will you either be quiet or go invisible? You're going to ruin everything!" More urgent flapping. He wasn't sure how going invisible would make it any easier on her, but if that is what she wished he could grant her that favour.

"Thaeril, we really must talk about..."

Many things seemed to happen at once. Thaeril pulled her head back, dropped her invisibility spell, and began madly waving her scarlet cloak around the corner. A female started shouting out about 'over there,' and a mer's voice began yelling threats. These words were most likely issuing from the charging figure Janus briefly made out through the wooden structure before being tugged unceremoniously away by a once more invisible Wood Elf.

"Run!" She whispered, pulling him along towards the open gate. Her natural speed and agility made her fast, but Janus had little difficulty keeping up with her. No, the difficulty lay in trying to figure out why they were running invisibly away like a pair of thieves with none other than Glarthir in hot pursuit.

Up the incline into the northern half of the city they ran, the city guards not paying the slightest mind to the panting angry Bosmer who wasn't sure which way they'd gone.

Before he could ask Thaeril any questions she'd hidden herself against a stone wall, dropped her spell, and began flicking the bright red cloth into Glarthir's line of sight.

"Marukhati spy! Your treachery shall not go unpunished!" Glarthir's angry shouts certainly didn't help to clarify the situation. Nor did the fact that Thaeril was once more fleeing invisibly, undead Count of Skingrad in tow.

Glarthir was surprisingly quick, and though he couldn't see them he could hear them. Thaeril led him on a roundabout chase – behind the West Weald Inn, around Hammer and Tongs, before finally grabbing Janus and pushing him into the alleyway between the Mages Guild and the Fighters Guild.

Glarthir was in the street now, standing still and listening. Janus wasn't about to give away his position, though he thought Thaeril might. She'd pushed Janus against the wall and was leaning in to him, pressing him back with her body, warily watching as her cousin glanced around. Her heart sounded so loud to him, a quickened rhythm from the exertions of the chase, and she was trying very hard to stifle her breathing.

The stand off seemed to last for hours. Glarthir motionless in the street, eyes darting everywhere, head cocked whenever he heard something, or merely imagined that he did. Meanwhile Janus was trapped against the wall, listening as Thaeril's heart started to calm itself, unable to smell anything except her unique fragrance – spiced meat, blood, and...honey. She smelt of summer and sunshine, of flower nectar distilled into liquid sweetness.

She smelt _tasty_.

The press of fangs alerted him to the fact that he was suddenly_hungry_. Fortunately Glarthir chose this time to leave, muttering as he went past.

"She told me! But I thought she was one of them. But she can't be, because they wouldn't let her tell me even if they were trying to trick me. I must get more evidence on them – do they know how much I know?" The mer spoke quietly to himself, a hint of a smile on his lips. "But I do know that she warned me..."

"Come. I imagine you'd like an explanation to all that," Thaeril tugged him towards the street, satisfied that Glarthir was finally out of range of hearing. She didn't, however, drop her invisibility spell.

"Where are we going?" Janus asked quietly. Disembodied voices floating along the streets of Skingrad would do nothing to enhance the reputation of his town.

"This way," Thaeril answered with such finality that he decided not to push her further. He was feeling rather amused by the proceedings. Playing hide and seek with a Bosmer was something he'd never done before. It had been rather fun.

"Are you sure it's safe?" He asked, surprised when Thaeril unlocked the door to Glarthir's house. "Why was he hunting you?"

"He wasn't hunting me," she answered, dropping her spell for a final time. Untying the scarlet strings around her neck she smiled brightly. "Glarthir's hunting the Marukhati."

"A disbanded order of monks?" Janus asked as he shut the door, blocking out the cold day. The room was a surprise in it's tidiness, considering what he knew of Glarthir. The bookshelves lining the walls were filled with various tomes and treatises, and small stacks of books, overflows of knowledge, were piled on the floor in front of them. An inviting sofa was drawn up near the fireplace, the blaze being rekindled by the strange Bosmer in front of it. Thaeril waved him over to have a seat on the only piece of furniture in the room made to hold people rather than information.

"This time. Last time it was the Blades. Time before that it was the Order of the Lamp," she chatted happily, her words having that slight sing song quality that the mer of Valenwood frequently possessed. Though it tended to soften away from the great forests, flattening with distance and time. It was a pity – he enjoyed hearing it.

"Won't he notice the Marukhati in the sitting room?" The bright red cloak, remarkably recognizable, was draped casually over a stack of what appeared to be cookbooks. Not noticing a better spot to put his own outerwear he settled for resting his cloak and gloves on a solid grouping of religious sermons.

"Oh, thank you." Thaeril grabbed the warm fabric. "Watch this. Mundane magic."

With a wink and a flourish she snaked a hand into a barely discernible slit in the base of the collar. Reaching in she grabbed hold and pulled, the hood turning itself inside out, changing from scarlet to emerald. A longer reach and a bit more pulling and the rest of the cloak had also transformed.

"Best place to hide something is in plain sight," she remarked while idly tossing the cloak back onto it's resting place atop the books. "Now I don't have any tea at the moment, but I've got something you'll probably enjoy. And I think Glarthir has some bread. Let me just grab it."

Before he could protest Thaeril had snuck off into the cellar, leaving him alone in the room. Well, not quite alone. The scent of her clung to him, a phantasm of the strange mer who'd suddenly invaded his life. He wasn't surprised that she'd apparently gotten along quite well with Lilia and Fathis. They were all a bit unusual as far as he was concerned.

"Here we go. I'll just heat this up while I fix the _bread_," she announced after having put a pot on to warm by the fire. Sitting down heavily on the sofa she hacked out wafer thin slices of bread from the loaf – at least, they were supposed to be slices. As her cutting technique brought to mind the carefully aimed chops of a butcher rather than the precision of a baker Janus wasn't surprised that the bread was more mangled than sliced. Then she proceeded to top it with a thick layer of the soft cheese she'd also brought up from the kitchen. After spreading the suspiciously soft cheese on the bread she gave the results a little crinkle of the nose in distaste before passing them to Janus.

"Won't you have any?" He asked. Eating food from Glarthir's cellar was perhaps not the wisest of plans.

"No," she replied while fetching the steaming pot from the holder, "I'll just stick with this."

"What is it?" He asked, surprised by the familiar scent.

"Old Nordic recipe," Thaeril answered with a grin. "Lilia gave it to me. I can't get enough of it – it's perfect for breakfast. You wouldn't believe the grief I got trying to get a decent cup of mutton tea from the Palace kitchens."

As she poured out the drinks he discreetly sniffed the food on his plate. There weren't any traces of poison, but he was a bit concerned that the cheese wasn't, in fact, cheese.

"Is this butter?" He sincerely hoped not – it was twice as thick as the slices of bread.

Thaeril nodded as she once more sat beside him. "That's how Glarthir eats it. I can't understand how anyone enjoys _bread_." Again that expression of distaste over a plant product.

"Have you ever tasted it?"

"Of course. Last time I visited Glarthir. Awful stuff."

Janus couldn't help chuckling. If all she'd ever had was butter topped with a hint of smashed bread then he couldn't blame her for not enjoying the experience.

"This isn't the standard way to prepare it," he politely stated while putting the plate on a nearby stack of books. "Even the cutting technique leaves a bit to be desired. You can't force the bread – you have to gently convince it with patient strokes."

"Like this?" Thaeril asked, having picked up the knife and edging forward towards the low table before them. While an improvement, it still wasn't quite right – now she was stabbing more than chopping.

"Not exactly. Here, like this," he corrected, reaching out to demonstrate. Guiding her hand as it held the knife one thick slice of fresh bread was created. "Now for the butter. Just a thin layer is necessary."

"A discreet layer?" She asked with a wink, her idle hand resting on his knee. He tried to ignore it as he finished preparing the bread. He'd have to have that talk with her, sooner rather than later. But first he was going to try and convince her that produce was not the source of all evil.

"Try this," he offered, satisfied that no better slice of bread and butter could possibly be created.

Thaeril hesitated before finally accepting it. She took a tentative bite.

"Chewing is recommended," he added helpfully, worried that she might be trying to dissolve it in her mouth. That probably wouldn't be very palatable.

She was nodding as she ate, the crinkle of her nose smoothing out. Thaeril even took one more generous bite before putting it down and grabbing her mug.

"Mmm, now this is good," she murmured after taking a sip. "But the bread isn't horrible. Better than Glarthir's version. It tastes so odd though. Not bad, just different. I suppose you get used to it after a while."

"Yes, I imagine you do," Janus replied. "Now we really do need to discuss some things. It's come to my attention that..."

The sheer amount of Bosmer overwhelmed him, his ordered thoughts crushed under the combined weight of his senses. Heartbeat, warmth, a curtain of sand coloured hair, woodsmoke, milk and honey – it took a few seconds to realize that she was kissing him.

It felt _good_.

Very good. Heightened senses brought back reports of pleasure he'd not known in years. Everything felt new and exquisite, a rediscovery of forgotten joy. His fingertips told him of the freckles on her back, able to discern the near imperceptible raises in the texture of the warm skin under her blouse. Her own hands created a trail of heat as they undid the buttons of his shirt. Nothing was in haste, no rush necessary, not in this slow exploration of remembered instinct.

And she tasted so good, soft lips still redolent of honey, of summer days and bright blossoms. He wondered if that sweetness would extend to her blood...

The faint noise of cold metal on even colder metal startled him, head turning quickly towards the source. The sight of the glowing figure fiddling with the lock, the mutters about the Marukhati, and Thaeril's worried murmur led him to do something instinctively.

He teleported, arriving back in his cold salon, his mind starting to catch up to his body. A thought coalesced, the first thought he'd had since the last thought had drowned in a sea of Wood Elf.

He'd forgotten his cloak.


	5. Roast

He was doing it again. Walking in endless circles around the sofa, slippered feet crushing the fine wool. If he wasn't careful he'd wear a path in the carpet, a physical reminder of his restlessness.

This was more than unexpected. To have a Bosmer show up and throw herself at him was one thing, but to be contemplating the possibilities that such an event presented...

No. It certainly wouldn't do to allow himself to get caught up in that line of thinking. That was ridiculous. Unnecessary. _Dangerous_...

Surely she had no idea what such close proximity did to him, the unbidden desires she brought to the forefront, the instincts that fought to rule his actions. No, Thaeril had no idea what she was playing with.

He should not have let it happen. The blame could not be placed on her naïve shoulders – surely she knew nothing of his nature. The imp of a Bosmer most likely thought only of fun and frolic. Her strange game of hide and seek with her cousin did nothing to help dispel that impression.

That was something else he should speak to her about. What she was doing to Glarthir had implications for his town. Winding up the resident crazy Wood Elf certainly couldn't be a good thing.

Yes, they had many things they needed to discuss. This time his words would not be cut off with distractions.

Now if only he hadn't left his warmest cloak behind. In order to go get it and find her he'd have to go outside – the air was so cold he could almost see the scant trace of humidity crystallizing into ice before his eyes.

Perhaps if he layered a couple of his other cloaks he'd be warm enough. But then his appearance would be ludicrous. He was not about to go parading through the town wearing half of his wardrobe on his back. Though he could move invisibly. But that felt too much like he had something to be ashamed of. He didn't, did he?

The sudden knock on his door, the jangle of chainmail covered hands on wood, startled him out of his thoughts. He froze, realizing he'd been pacing once more, and took a deep breath to calm himself. It was unnerving how restless he felt.

Opening the door to find Danus Artellian holding his wayward cloak did nothing to dispel the feeling. He'd been hoping that Thaeril would be the one to return it. It would be more convenient to speak with her in his salon. Less interruptions that way.

The frozen Imperial obviously had something he wanted to discuss and Janus ushered him quickly into the hall. The man's chainmail was squeaking every time he moved, the cold having contracted the metal until it ground against itself in protest.

"What do you have there?" Janus asked, not wanting to admit to anything until he knew the circumstances under which his outerwear had found itself in his Captain's hands. By not acknowledging it was his in the first place he could easily deny all knowledge of it should the explanation be less than savoury.

"Gift from that Bosmer," Danus replied, teeth chattering as he did.

"Which Bosmer?" Janus inquired, making no move to take the fabric.

"Uuras. Said it was from his cousin." The Imperial had put the cloak down on the nearby bench and removed his gloves. He was blowing on his fingers trying to warm them back up. He also was making no move to return outside and to his duties.

"Was there something else?" The arched eyebrow caused an immediate bolt of nervousness in the man. Count Hassildor was not known for his tolerance of having his time wasted.

"Yes," Danus spoke through a temple of fingers. "The goblins are at it again. Uuras complained that he lost three sheep to them yesterday, and we had some reports of travelers getting into trouble by Derelict Mine."

As if he didn't have enough to worry about right now. The reputation of Skingrad as the goblin capitol of Cyrodiil was something he'd been trying to combat for years. There were far more goblins out in the Nibenay Basin but for some reason everyone believed that they proliferated in the hills outside of his city.

"Which tribes?" He asked, trying not to sigh. This sort of thing was terrible for tourism – the only people interested in a goblin rich environment tended to be the type who wound up either dead or in need of serious healing. Either way they certainly weren't they type of people Janus wanted to attract.

"The White Skin and Sharp Tooth clans. One of the patrols saw a skirmish. Looks like the Sharp Tooth tribe managed to steal the totem from the White Skin," the Imperial answered, still warming his stiff fingers with hot puffs of breath. "Do you want us to call in the Mages Guild again?"

"No. Not just yet," Janus replied. It was getting embarrassing, always hiring the Mages Guild to send someone to sneak down, steal the totem, and give it back to the other tribe. Perhaps he'd take care of the problem himself. It would certainly give him something else to think about besides Bosmers.

* * *

There it was again. The shouts of goblins, the sound of something vaguely disturbing, and then silence. Janus wasn't sure what that meant, or if he truly wanted to find out. In his experience goblins didn't generally _sizzle_. 

Nor did they spontaneously combust. The handful of goblins he'd found in the upper levels of Derelict Mine had all been char-roasted into black husks. From what he knew of shamans they weren't that skilled with fire magics to accomplish such a trick.

Sneaking further down into the cold tunnels he again heard the odd assortment of noises. Something was definitely sizzling, and judging by the angry goblin shouts he guessed it was them. It wasn't until he snuck out into a large room did he finally see the reason behind it.

A purple figure, invisible to the goblins, visible to him, was pressed tightly against the wall. Meanwhile a group of goblins, weapons drawn, were patrolling in a haphazard fashion around the space. Several charred corpses littered the ground.

Though he didn't want to he sniffed the air. Almost hidden by the horrific stench of unwashed goblin there floated a scent that was he was becoming intimately acquainted with.

Thaeril.

She didn't seem to notice his presence, invisibility spell masking him from view, and he tucked himself away in a corner to watch what she was up to. The merest shadow of movement rippled across the dark rock, still black from the explosions used to carve it out of the hills years ago.

The chameleoned Bosmer was climbing the wall, slowly but skillfully. The goblins, with their lacking eyesight, couldn't detect the motion. She made her way halfway up, well out of reach of their weapons, and suddenly appeared.

The goblins shouted angry warcries against the interloper. Thaeril, meanwhile, was sending a strong jet of fire into the nearest goblin. The creature's flesh burnt away while it's fellows tried to jump up and hit her. Twisting carefully she sent another stream of flames into the largest goblin. The shell armour on his chest ignited and the creature screamed while trying to beat it out.

Thaeril disappeared once more under cover of her chameleon spell and began inching her way to the side, trying to leave the bewildered and furious goblins behind. She moved well, and Janus wryly noted that Fathis would be most amused to see the near invisible Court Wizard of Bravil climbing the walls of a goblin camp.

However he was not at all amused when a piece of rock, weary from the stress of holding up the world, fell away in her hand. The small cascade of stones, and Thaeril's cry of surprise as she began sliding down towards the floor, alerted the goblins to her location.

While it would make his life far simpler Janus was not about to stand by and watch her get turned into Wood Elf jelly. Not only would Raminus be upset – the mer had been the only one to apply for the post under Count Terentius in a year and a half – but he still didn't know what she'd been doing to Glarthir. The last thing he needed was for the paranoid Bosmer to begin harassing every citizen dressed in crimson, accusing them of religious perfidy. That really wouldn't help out the tourism trade.

Stepping forward, his invisibility falling away, he yelled out the only word he knew how to say in Goblin, taught to him by a very odd Breton linguist many years ago. Apparently it hadn't changed in meaning, as they all turned to face him at once, giant eyes burning with hatred. Funny how one word contained such deep meaning about the questionable mating habits of their mothers.

Satisfied that he'd lured them far enough from Thaeril he was once more about to hide under a blanket of invisibility when her strange cry rang out, the sing song quality of the epithet echoing off the ragged walls.

"Leaf-eating, sheep killing, foul smelling s'wits!" The wave of fire that slammed into the back of the group brought their attention away from the Count and back over to her. He didn't know what she was playing at, but this had gone on long enough.

A counterpoint of heat, scorching across the goblins, caused great confusion and much pain. Uncertain of where to attack first they hesitated. Thaeril followed up with some well aimed bursts of fire, and Janus made sure not to be outdone. The mer did know a thing or two about magic at least. It was nice to see Raminus had chosen her for at least one other reason than the fact that she'd applied.

Most of the creatures were dead now though a few remained, continuing their clumsy attacks. Dodging out of the way, making sure to aim his spells effectively, it didn't take much longer until he and Thaeril were the only two left standing amidst the smoldering wreckage of the Sharp Tooth tribe. While it hadn't been his plan, this did work in terms of resolving the goblin war. Killing off an entire clan certainly took care of that problem.

"Are you hurt?" He asked. Thaeril shook her head, catching her breath from running around the cave.

"No. Just drained. And hungry. I've been in this bloody place all day. Who knew there were so many of them?" She pointed to the bodies strewn about.

"That's generally why the Legion doesn't clear these places out without planning and back up," he stated dryly. "Was there a particular reason you were trying to get yourself killed in here?"

"My cousin."

"Glarthir?" He couldn't imagine what red cloaks and goblins had to do with Glarthir's love life.

"Of course not. Uuras." She again gave him that odd look as if he'd suddenly gone mad.

"Uuras is Glarthir's cousin?" By the Nine, the Bosmer really were one giant family.

"No," Thaeril stated emphatically. "He's my cousin on my father's side."

"Through marriage?"

"No. Through blood. Really, I thought you were supposed to be well informed. I can't imagine why you think Uuras and Glarthir are related. Their families live on opposite coasts!" She sat down near the fire, drawing her cloak tight around her, and he noticed that she was shivering a little.

"How long were you in here? And why?" He inquired as he brushed off a rock nearby. He'd just gotten his cloak back – he didn't want to ruin it with dirt and goblin ash.

"What time is it now?" She asked while reaching for a nearby body.

"Half past four," Janus answered, very confused as she tugged the arm close to her before drawing out an elven dagger. "What time did you enter?"

"I left Skingrad just after eight this morning. No wonder I'm so drained," she muttered while carving strips off the goblin's forearm. "I've spent all day either chameleoned or burning things. My magicka is exhausted, my body is sore from clinging to rocks, and I've not been able to warm myself except by setting the blighters on fire. At least they're dead and I can finally take a break."

Janus stared at her with a fascinated horror. He was beginning to understand what she was about to do, and though he felt he should stop her, he couldn't bring himself to utter the words – the mere thought was so distasteful.

Thaeril, however, completely misread his expression. Giving him a sheepish smile she held out a hunk of flesh. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. Did you want some?"

"No. Gods no. I don't think you do either," he warned her.

"Why not? Have you ever tried it?" She asked as she roasted a piece over the fire. The way it crackled, combined with the smell, made him feel very ill.

"No. Have you?"

"I'm about to," she answered with a wink before taking a bite. The expression on her face was priceless – a mixture of shock, disgust, and nausea. He couldn't help laughing as she shot the barely chewed morsel into the air, sending it to land on a dead goblin's nose.

"By Y'ffre, that was the worst thing I've ever tasted! What do they eat?" She exclaimed in between spits.

"I've often suspected each other," he replied, highly amused by her predicament. "Do they at least taste better than they smell?"

"No," she stated, her nose positively wrinkled with disgust. "Just as bad, only oily. Ugh."

"There is a usually a reason that we don't eat certain creatures here in Cyrodiil," he couldn't help lecturing her gently. She was standing now and still spitting. Her nose was so crinkled with disgust he almost imagined she was trying to touch her forehead with the the pointed tip of it.

"Come on, let's get out of here," she grabbed his hand and tugged him back towards the entrance of the cave. "Oh, Jode save me, I have to get the taste of this out of my mouth. And I need a bath. I reek of goblin."

She was marching quickly up the deserted tunnels, the glow of the phosphorescent fungi that grew on the walls illuminating her pointed ears and matted hair. A patch of faintly glimmering blue shimmered on her cloak – she must have rubbed up against some when she'd clambered along the walls. Janus has to agree with her statement. She was an absolute mess.

And he still didn't know why. The Bosmer had a terrible habit of answering questions without actually explaining anything.

"Why is it that you reek of goblin in the first place?" He inquired while stepping over a blackened corpse.

"Just helping out my cousin. I see he got your cloak to you. I didn't think you'd want me to be the one to bring it back, so I asked him to give it to your steward. Told him you'd left it in the Imperial City, and as I had to come here I didn't have time to get it to you," she gave him a delighted smile and a wink. "Pretty discreet, yes?"

"Thaeril, we really must talk," he answered, suddenly very aware that she was still holding his hand. The entrance to the mine was just up ahead and he could smell the wonderful scent of fresh air drift by, dispelling the noxious reek of burnt goblin.

"Yes, of course we do. But not now," she tugged him forward while a loud growl tore through the room. The poor thing really was hungry – that had been her stomach, not a bear. "I must have dinner first. Well, second. A bath first. I'm disturbing myself with the smell. Goblins are foul, loathsome creatures."

"Then when?" He asked, bemused by this imp of a Bosmer. The memory of her face when she bit the roasted goblin meat was far too ridiculous to get out of his mind.

"How about over dinner?" She suggested while dragging him out into the brilliant sunshine. The snow reflected the light back upon itself, and the world was crisp with contrast and cold.

"I am not eating at Glarthir's," he stated firmly. The contents of the mer's pantry were still highly suspect in his mind.

"Very well. Then I'll dine with you tonight at the Castle," she happily decided, her words floating up and down as her accent asserted itself. "I look forward to it. Until then!"

A quick kiss on the cheek later he was left alone, standing amongst the rocks and snow, watching her _skip_ back to Skingrad, discovering himself worrying about what the kitchens were going to serve for dinner.

Hopefully it didn't contain any _leaves_.


	6. Produce

It didn't, thankfully, though it did have copious amounts of vegetables mixed in. But there was fresh bread, fine wine, and sweetcake for dessert. Surely she could find something to eat.

Janus frowned at the table, set up in the salon, reflecting that it looked far more romantic than he wanted it to.

But there wasn't anything he could see being done to fix that. The silver candelabra, polished to a bright sheen; the fine limeware, imported directly from Vvardenfell; the softest linens, clouds of fabric hiding the wood – all chosen for their decadence and opulence, now looking almost too luxurious and sensual. Really, he didn't want Thaeril to get the wrong impression.

A barrage of knocks, interspersed with perhaps a few kicks, startled him. It sounded as though the mer was trying to beat his door down. By the Nine, she was something else. The whole castle could probably hear her.

Walking quickly to answer it he was thankful that at least she wasn't calling out to him at the same time. Opening the door he had the faint impression of freshly scrubbed Wood Elf in the darkening twilight before she streaked past him, running to his salon.

Sighing he closed the door behind her and walked back, purposefully taking measured steps. He was not about to get drawn in to her strange ways again. This was his castle, his suite, his territory. Things would be done his way.

The mer was crouching beside the fireplace, seated on the rug rather than the furniture, and he noticed that her hair, piled up on her head, was reflecting the dancing firelight. Then he noticed that was due to the ice encasing it rather than any natural shine.

"You came here with wet hair?" He asked. The temperature had dropped along with the sun, and he couldn't remember it being so cold in decades. The guard were taking turns on patrol, no more than a scant handful of minutes at a time, due to the danger of armour freezing to skin.

"I wasn't going to wait hours for it to dry," she stammered. "I'm _hungry_."

"Why didn't you use magic?" he asked.

"Magic? How?" She questioned back, intrigued by the concept. "Its so warm in Silvenar hair dries itself."

"We don't have that luxury here. The Empress has a spell she uses to dry off," he replied. Janus would never forget the mess Lilia had made in his bathroom. It had taken the maid almost an hour to clean off the splashes of ash sludge she'd left on his tiles. Remarkable, considering she'd only been in there a few minutes.

"I'll ask Lilia to teach me it before the Old Life party. Are you going?" she asked while turning her head so that the hair was dangerously close to the fire. Thaeril's body was warming back up, the muscles formerly contracted with chill relaxing, the blood pumping indolently through her veins. That was an attractive sight. So tempting...

"Of course," Janus replied, halting the flow of thoughts. Time to focus on the political realities of their station, and the matter at hand. Though it was remarkable - she wasn't even doing anything and she was distracting him.

While the Old Life party was yet another diplomatic event he found it invaluable to attend, just as he did all the others. Especially with his remarkable hearing – quite fascinating the tidbits of information revealed in the idle chatter.

"Is dinner ready? I'm hungry enough to eat a horse. I wouldn't though, don't worry. They aren't that tasty," Thaeril asked while rising. With a sweep of his arm he indicated the awaiting table.

"What is it? It smells good," she inquired as she sat down. With a graceful movement he removed the cover from her bowl, a fragrant puff of steam rising up.

"Beef stew. You can eat around the vegetables if you wish, but I do recommend you at least try them," he answered while carefully arranging his napkin on his lap.

Thaeril had speared a piece of potato and was eying it warily. After a few discreet sniffs she took a tentative nibble. He noticed that she was missing a couple of teeth – her upper lip had always hidden that fact before.

"Tastes almost beefy," she murmured in approval. "Certainly much better than goblin."

"I imagine so," he replied. Thaeril didn't seem very interested in conversation at the moment. While she was restraining herself she still made short work of her dinner – even the chunks of carrot were eaten.

"I'm glad we have this opportunity to talk. There has been some miscommunication between us lately and I'd like to set things straight," Janus said while trying not to let his amusement show. The mer had reached across the table with her fork and stolen a piece of his stew. Potato, no less.

"You're quite right," she agreed after eating the pilfered vegetable. "I didn't get a chance to tell you what I was doing with Glarthir."

While it wasn't the topic he'd wanted to broach it would do for a start. The merry chase she'd led her cousin on yesterday was something he still didn't understand.

"He's sweet on Bernadette," she said.

"Bernadette Penelas?" Janus asked, surprised that the object of Glarthir's affection actually existed, was alive, and was female.

Thaeril nodded as she sipped her wine. "And the best part is she thinks he's _nice_. Glarthir, nice? I love him as family, but he's far more cranky than nice."

"What does that have to do with the Marukhati?" Janus asked while Thaeril stole another piece of stew. She was obviously very hungry and he gently nudged his bowl closer towards her. At least there would be less chance of her dripping beef gravy on the table.

"He always invents some reason that he can't just talk to a girl. This time he was convinced she was working for the Marukhati."

"He told you that?"

"No. I found his notes," she answered with a grin. "Really, he should hide them better. Keeping the key under the lettuce and the box in the false bottom of his dresser. Why, he's practically begging for someone to read them."

Janus tried not to shake his head. Bosmeri logic was worse than that of the Blades. He still remembered that odd conversation he'd had with Baurus about Arena names...

"I had to convince him that she was on his side. So I told him that the Emperor knew the Marukhati were after him and he'd assigned his best agents to keep Glarthir alive. Davide Surilie and Toutius Sextius were mentioned in his notes, so they became the agents. Bernadette was a concerned citizen recruited to work with them," she elaborated.

"Davide Surilie, Emperor's agent?" The vintner would be greatly amused to hear it.

"Yes. And to prove that he had nothing to fear from any of them the Marukhati had to make an appearance. I spent all day yesterday following him around, flashing the bright red of their robes at him."

"The Marukhati were monks. I doubt they wore scarlet," Janus pointed out. Thaeril was chewing on a piece of beef and he decided to grab a few bites of his meal before it disappeared completely. The mer had quite an appetite.

"Of course they didn't. But I told Glarthir they did. He'd already seen my green cloak, but he didn't know that it could be worn red as well. This way I didn't need to buy a new one."

"And the reason Glarthir was working in the vineyard?" The mer was independently wealthy as far as Janus knew – at the very least Glarthir didn't have a regular job.

"I told him to try and stay close to Bernadette because the Marukhati wouldn't dare go after him with her around. To truly convince him that she wasn't working with them I made sure she saw the cloak rather than him. By the time you showed up she'd begun mentioning how odd it was that she kept seeing flashes of red," Thaeril explained. "I had to let him have at least one good chase. That always tires him out and calms him down."

"I see," Janus said quietly, trying to prevent his laughter from escaping. "And did your plan work?"

"I think so. He left early this morning telling me he was going to buy Bernadette breakfast. I noticed a long letter to his mother hidden behind a painting, so I think he's about back to normal."

His bowl was just as empty as hers now. Thaeril appeared very relaxed. She was resting her chin in her palm, elbow on the table and eyes upon him. Janus cleared his throat and tried to order his thoughts.

"Dessert?" He asked. He was finding that if he kept her eating then he kept her distracted.

"Yes please. What is it?" She asked as he floated away the dirty dishes, replacing them with clean plates.

"Sweetcake and whipped cream," he explained. Noting her look of confusion he continued. "Sort of like milk and honey in bread form. At least try it."

"Of course. I imagine I'll have to get used to all of this produce at some point." The word wasn't said with such derision as normal. "You do have pretty good taste in food. But tea..."

"You didn't even try the tea," he protested as he passed her a slice of moist cake, pillow of whipped cream on top. "How can you pass judgment on it without tasting it?"

"Well, you didn't try the goblin either," she pointed out while discreetly examining the morsel of cake on the end of her fork. With a crinkle of her nose she finally ate it.

"Why were you hunting goblins?" He inquired, disappointed that the crinkle hadn't disappeared. He'd been sure she'd like it.

"Nasty creatures. They killed three of Uuras' favourite sheep. He was so distraught he forgot to give me any blood for mutton tea. I'll have to visit him tomorrow morning before I leave," she answered while taking a large forkful of dessert. He realized she'd been disgusted by the talk of goblins, not the food itself.

"Blood?" Janus asked, confused by her words.

"How else do you think you make mutton tea?" Thaeril gave him a look as if he'd gone soft in the head. "You heat the water, not too hot mind you, and then add in enough blood to give a beautiful rosy glow. Reminds me of sunsets."

"I thought you used meat..." he replied, mildly disturbed at the concept.

"No, then you've made mutton broth," she answered with a shake of the head. "Which is something entirely different. I've not had a decent cup of mutton tea since I've come to this province. Uuras is so good to his sheep, they really make the best tea. That's why I had to help him. I couldn't let goblins kill off his flock."

That made sense, but in a purely Bosmeri way. Janus was still trying to handle the concept of mutton tea. Rotmeth was bad enough, but at least you couldn't tell it was blood. But mutton tea...

"Thank you, by the way. For helping me out in the mine, and for dinner. It was delicious. Fathis mentioned you had very good taste." Thaeril's plate was empty, and he pushed his closer to her with a smile. He took a sense of satisfaction that he'd gotten her to see that produce wasn't entirely terrible.

"Master Aren said that?" Janus was curious – that seemed rather nice of the Telvanni. Perhaps the mer had been ill.

"Well, not in so many words. I think he said _spoilt luxury loving son of a noble_, but that's almost the same thing," Thaeril replied before attacking his slice of cake. Now that sounded more like something the Dunmer would say.

"And how did I come up in conversation?"

"Lilia was telling me stories about you. I think she was talking about the time you closed the gate at Bruma."

"I'm surprised she bored you with such trivia," he murmured. Much to his delight Thaeril took the bait and elaborated without him needing to ask.

"Well, we'd been climbing the walls of the Elder Council – she's not bad, but her technique needs some corrections. Lilia was explaining how useful climbing had been for her during the Oblivion Crisis, and Fathis managed to stop laughing long enough to point out levitation would have been even more helpful. That's when she decided to tell me about your trip to Oblivion," Thaeril told him. "Funny, Fathis didn't find that story nearly as amusing."

"I'm sure he didn't." The mer was still a bit sore that he'd not had a chance to beat Janus' record time for closing a gate.

"I still feel bad about what happened after that. Lilia started talking about the Psijics, Fathis mentioned her ability to scry, and before I knew it she was trying to demonstrate for me," Thaeril had put down her fork. Whether out of guilt or due to being satiated Janus wasn't sure. "The way she screamed..."

"Don't," he commanded her. Thaeril blinked at him in confusion. "You didn't do anything. You're no more responsible for what happened than Fathis."

"But she wanted to show me how it worked," Thaeril protested.

"Exactly. Trust me on this – that woman won't do anything she doesn't want to do. And Nine protect those who try and stop her when she gets her mind set on something." Lilia's stubbornness was something he was very familiar with. Sometimes it took every last ounce of his guile to try and guide her towards a different point of view on political matters. Though even still it was never a sure thing she'd listen to him.

"Really?" Thaeril inquired as she stood up. Grabbing Janus' hand she tugged him over towards the fireplace, and the velveteen sofa in front of it. "I can't imagine acting like that..."

"Thaeril, stop," Janus stated, trying to tug his hand back. Though all he managed to do was pull her closer to him – she refused to relinquish her grasp. "This won't work."

"Oh? Everything felt like it was working yesterday..." She was hugging him now, and he tried not to smell her. Soap and water and ice and fire – it smelt so good.

"I'm a vampire," he said while moving his head out of the way of a kiss.

"I know," she trilled before attempting another one.

"You don't know. You can't possibly know what that means," he said firmly. Gods, the feel of her, warm body pressed against him, was too much.

"Please. Do you think I'm naïve? I'm very familiar with what that means. Lilia told me all about it – the senses and the urges and the need to feed. She's surprisingly knowledgeable about vampires," Thaeril had abandoned trying to get his lips and was now nuzzling into his neck.

"No. This won't work," he tried to press her gently away, struggling with his desire to pull her even closer, to touch, to smell, to _taste_...

"Janus," her words held a note of annoyance. "I am not trying to become the next Countess of Skingrad. I fail to see any reason why we can't have a little fun."

He was about to protest, to explain the complications such fun would cause, to argue the case against rushing into any sort of a relationship, but he was too busy reconciling the fact that the room had suddenly shifted out from under him. As Thaeril pounced it became apparent that she'd bodily flipped him onto the sofa. That was a neat trick, almost as nice as the one she could do with her tongue...

And then his mind stopped trying to think, too occupied with feeling, exploring, sensing. Satisfied that she'd captured her prey the Bosmer was taking her time, in no rush to speed things along. Janus was just as satisfied with the slow pace, content to be trapped under a press of Bosmer that tasted of sweet cream and felt so warm.

It wasn't until he heard the key in the lock that he realized why he'd begun smelling Argonian in the air. Hal-Liurz, his most efficient steward, his most punctual steward, had come to collect the dishes and discuss tomorrow's business.

Thaeril had heard the noise too, and she bolted across the room. Pretending to look at a tapestry on the wall she quickly adjusted her gown. Janus, having far too many buttons to do up, not to mention needing to tuck his shirt into his pants, merely settled for remaining seated on the sofa. His jacket was carefully wrapped around to conceal the lurid state of his apparel.

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect your guest to still be here," Hal-Liurz apologized while studying his hair. He resisted the urge to smooth it out – lifting his arm would result in the opening of his jacket. Instead he assumed his most dignified posture, trying to ignore the fact that he most likely was tufted on top.

"That's not a problem. I was just on my way out," Thaeril said while moving to collect her cloak.

"I'll see you tomorrow for dinner," he stated. This conversation was not finished.

"Of course. My place, remember?" She replied with a grin. He'd forgotten her plans to leave Skingrad tomorrow morning. "Robber's Glen Cave, just north of Bravil on the Green road. You can't miss it."

"I'll be there," he added, cursing the fact that he couldn't leave his spot on the sofa, cursing even harder that she was leaving the room.

"Thank you again for your hospitality. I'll show myself out," Thaeril gave him a wave before walking out of view.

"You're going to Bravil tomorrow? Will you be returning before your trip to the Imperial City?" Hal-Liurz asked while discreetly staring at his hair. Janus couldn't begin to imagine how ridiculous it must look.

"No, I don't think I will," he answered while suppressing a smile. At least, he certainly wouldn't be if things finally unfolded according to his wishes...


	7. Game

_Can't miss it._

That certainly described the sight in front of him. He'd blink to try and clear his eyes, but he'd already done that. Instead he reached forward and brushed a clump of snow off the blue morning glory.

It was real. Somehow Thaeril had enchanted the plants around the entrance to her cave, and the incongruous sight of lavender, columbine, and wild flax blooming brightly under the white mantle of snow greeted his eyes.

With a smile he made his way into the cave. What an ingenious little imp of a Bosmer. She certainly did have a unique charm to her.

The interior was lit with glowing clumps of wisp stalks and Janus was able to press further in without resorting to a light spell. It was surprisingly spacious, relatively dry, and remarkably warm. Stopping before he stepped out into a small clearing he frowned.

While he wouldn't put it past her, he somehow doubted that Thaeril had suddenly sprouted wings. So the flapping he heard in the air probably wasn't caused by the Bosmer. No, it surely belonged to the small purple figure hovering off the ground.

The imp noticed him at the same time. As Janus cast a shield of magic he wondered why it was merely chirping at him, a steady stream of unhappy banter, rather than attacking.

As the chirping echoed through the cave, taken up by a host of imps, he began to wonder if he hadn't been mistaken in Thaeril's directions. He did not come to play with a horde of rabid imps. One imp of a Bosmer, yes. A gaggle of beastly imps, no.

"Janus!" Thaeril waved happily to him from a connecting tunnel. "I hope Pelagius didn't startle you. He's not the friendliest, but he refuses to stay anywhere but here. Honestly, imps can be so territorial. Nothing like Katariah and Uriel – they play quite happily together."

"Pelagius?" He asked while walking over to join her. The imp was now muttering, a low series of chirps and growls.

"Oh, hush you," she hissed at the imp. It fell silent but kept glaring. Intertwining her arm with his she gave Janus a kiss on the cheek before leading him further into the cave. "I've named them after Emperors and Empresses; as a Court Wizard I should know the names of them all, but I will admit history has never been a favourite subject of mine."

"I could recommend some good books if you'd like," he offered while handing her the bottle of wine he'd brought.

"Tamika. Thank you," she replied while giving his hand a squeeze. "It will go perfectly with dinner."

"Why is it so warm?" He asked, taking in the charming little suite she'd set up for herself in the high ceilinged space. A small pile of glowing rocks sat in the far corner, somehow issuing very savoury scents into the air. A large rug provided a base for the settee, end tables, and low bookshelves. At the far end of the room a small bedroom had been created. Despite it being in a cave, and dotted with stalagmites, it was a very cozy room.

"Natural hot springs. I've got a makeshift bathroom set up in the lower level. It's really quite nice," she waved him over to have a seat before heading off to tend to the rocks. "Though it is a shame there aren't any decent trees in Cyrodiil. I do miss the sunshine sometimes."

"Then why don't you live in the Castle?" He asked, watching as she heated the rocks up with magicka. Clay pots were hidden under the stones, dinner most likely contained within them.

"Have you ever smelt Bravil?" She asked, nose crinkling. "No, this is far preferable. Besides, it is tradition for the Court Wizard of Bravil to not live in the city."

"That's not tradition, that's Fathis," Janus retorted. "He's the one who decided to go live in that leaky fort of his."

Thaeril laughed heartily at that. From deep in the cave he heard the echoes of the imps, chirping back at her mirth.

"Well, I do like it down here. Lots of space, plenty of company, and a plethora of food if I ever get desperate."

"Food?" Janus hadn't noticed anything to eat besides the wisp stalks.

"The imps, of course," she replied. Noting the look on his face she shook her head with a grin. "Don't tell me you've never had imp before! It has such a delicate flavour. And if you fry the wings they end up like crunchy lace. A little seasoning and you can make an entire meal out of an imp. I don't eat my guardians though. At least, so long as they behave themselves."

"Guardians?" The imp of a Bosmer kept pet imps. This really shouldn't have surprised him.

"Of course. They aren't that difficult to train. Just make a meal out of the worst trouble maker and they quickly learn to listen. Helps if you can understand them though," she answered while cooling the rocks with a frost spell. Dinner must be ready.

"You speak Impish?" There were few in Cyrodiil who knew the language of beasts. "What was Pelagius saying to me?"

"Well, that's not polite dinner conversation," she replied lightly while floating the pots over to the table. "Let's just say he wasn't happy to see you and leave it at that. Really, if he doesn't shape up he'll end up as my next midnight snack."

Janus laughed, amused by her idle banter. Joining her at the table he marveled at how remarkably good it smelt.

"Enjoy! I'm glad you came. I'd never make this just for myself. Secret family recipe," Thaeril stated proudly as the lids flew off. He couldn't quite identify it – the aroma was rich and meaty, hinting of beef and venison.

"What is it?" He inquired. While he would try it he wanted to make sure it wasn't anything too odd first.

"Wild game. It doesn't contain any goblin or people, so don't worry," Thaeril joked while slicing up the meat. It appeared to be steak, covered in a thick gravy.

Assured that it was merely carnivorous and not cannibalistic he imitated her, cutting off a small square of meat. Taking a bite he found his eyes closing to better focus on the delightful flavour and texture. It was moist, juicy, the perfect balance of spices and seasonings.

"This is the best steak I've ever had," he complimented sincerely. "Who is your butcher?"

"Butcher? I do my own butchering," Thaeril replied. "And my own hunting. I was taking Reman for a walk when he spotted it. The dear wanted to help, but I couldn't let him damage the meat with magic."

"You hunted down a cow? Those aren't considered wild game in Cyrodiil," he asked with a smile before taking another bite. It really was good.

"That's not beef," Thaeril answered. "I know what is and isn't game. I'm a decent hunter, and I always carry a bow and arrows when out in the wild. Old habit."

"Well, it's not venison," Janus stated. He was now curious as to what he was eating. "And I'm sure it's not bear."

"Definitely not. Bears are too fatty," Thaeril was crinkling her nose again, though she was greatly enjoying her meal.

"It can't be mutton. Is it boar?"

"No. Think horn, not tusks," she answered with a grin.

"Horn singular?" Janus asked. Her nod confused him – he didn't know of any game animals living in Cyrodiil with only one horn. Horns plural, yes. But the only thing he'd heard of with one horn...

"Unicorn?" He gasped.

"Yes. Violent creatures. I ended up in a tree and almost out of arrows before it finally died," Thaeril recounted. "Took almost an hour to calm poor Reman down. He was so frightened by it."

Janus stared down at the remainder of his meal. He'd never eaten unicorn before. He'd never even heard of anyone eating unicorn before. Hmm, at least she'd found a good use for the aggressive beasts. Only thing he'd ever heard of that they were good for was using their powdered horn as a reagent, and even that could often be substituted with more effective alchemy ingredients.

"What's the sauce?" He asked as he took another bite. Maybe Thoronir could get a steady supply of unicorn meat delivered to Skingrad. It really was delicious.

"Minotaur. As I was floating back the unicorn we were attacked by a minotaur. The meat isn't good for much, but the tongue makes a wonderful sauce base. Of course there are a few other ingredients, but I can't tell you those. My gram would kill me if I did."

Janus didn't press. So far the ingredients were very palatable, and he didn't want to discover that the piquant note was perhaps due to rat bladder, or dreugh wax.

"Do you have room for dessert?" She asked after he'd finished off the last of his dinner. Curious as to what an authentic Bosmeri dessert was he nodded. The answer was a charming surprise.

"Honey custard," Thaeril explained as she set down the quivering crown of milky confection. "Uuras gave me the recipe. His cousin makes the best custard. Well, she's his third cousin twice removed on his dad's side, but that's almost the same thing."

"Quite," Janus murmured as she passed him a jiggling portion. It did smell very good. Though he'd been expecting something more exotic, he was pleased that at least there didn't appear to be any meat hidden in it. To his delight he found it a refreshing end to the meal.

"I wonder if you can bake sweetcake with heated rocks," she pondered in between spoonfuls. "That really did taste nice. Do you think Salmo will give me the recipe?"

"No. I don't think he'd give up his recipes even if the fate of the world depended on it. Lilia's been trying to get his sweetroll recipe for over a year," he answered. The dessert was delicious, but he couldn't keep from remembering the taste of sweet cream from last night.

"Hmm. Do you think I could trade recipes? Would he want the one for roasted imp in a scrib jelly cream sauce? That's my specialty. Too bad scribs aren't in season right now. The jelly has to be as fresh as possible," she mused while scooping up the final portion of custard on her plate.

"You could always try," he answered.

"I think I'll do that," she replied. Rising from her chair she gathered up the dirty dishes and carried them towards the tunnel.

"Where are you going?" Janus asked.

"The imps clean off the leftovers. Makes washing dishes much easier if I don't have to scrape any food off. The dears do that themselves." Thaeril answered before disappearing out of view.

Janus followed behind, unable to resist watching this. The Bosmer stood in the middle of the cave and began to _chirp_. The call was repeated back to her, echoing off the rocks, and imps started to appear from the connecting tunnels. Leaving the dishes on the floor she walked over to join Janus, winding her arm around his waist.

"Who's that?" Janus asked, pointing to an obese imp. He didn't even know imps could get fat, but this one had a belly that could only be described as pendulous.

"Uriel. Uriel the fourth, actually. Apparently he was the fattest Emperor of them all, or so I've been told," she answered. "Come, they don't like it when I watch them eat. Probably paranoid that they'll be tomorrow's dinner."

She was tugging him along again, leading him down into her warm lair. He let her guide him, being pressed back towards the settee. This time he was prepared for the maneuver, and when she went to throw him on to the furniture he caught her up instead, this wild mer trapped in his arms.

It was awkward, but they managed to settle down into a comfortable position. She tasted even sweeter this time, of honey and cream, of sunshine and life. Swept away in the sensations he let himself feel – sights, sounds, scents, _taste_...

He pulled back, mortified by the small squeak she'd made when his fangs had brushed her lips. Before he could say anything her hands were on his mouth, fingers prying his upper lip back to expose his teeth.

"Those aren't as big as I'd imagined," Thaeril remarked. She was testing the point of one with her thumb. It was remarkable – she had no fear whatsoever as she played with his fangs.

"Thaeril, I'm sorry, but this won't work," Janus murmured, shifting back up into a sitting position, shrugging off her curious hands.

"Won't work?" She questioned. "Why not?"

"Vials of blood are well and good, but they don't satisfy..." Janus trailed off, frustrated with the situation. "You make me_ hungry_."

"Oh." A quiet little remark, flat and monotone.

"I'm sorry," he said once more. Moving to stand up he found himself once more pinned to the settee, pressed down by a crush of Wood Elf.

"How much?" Thaeril asked, studying him with a smile.

"What, how sorry? Very sorry," Janus answered, getting annoyed with this game that had lost its charm.

"No. How much blood do you need? A lot? A little? How much would be enough?"

"It doesn't matter. I will not bite you," he answered, thoroughly irritated with the suggestion. Thaeril laughed at his response.

"Of course you won't. Don't you know that's how the infection spreads?" She asked while pulling out her dagger. The blade had a wicked curve to it, the edge winking with sharp thoughts and murderous intentions. What was he dealing with?

"Thaeril, what are you doing?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to have to hurt her, but that dagger was far too close for his tastes. She laughed again, her body calm and relaxed, and he didn't find it at all soothing.

"Do you know how we get the blood for mutton tea?" She asked while rolling up her trailing sleeve.

"A quick spell to numb the pain," a sparkle of magicka twinkled along the delicate wrist, "and a precise cut. They don't even feel it." The tip of the dagger had nicked the vein, and her blood began calling to him, a siren song of primal urgings.

"Undiluted Bosmer tea," she whispered, pressing the wrist towards his mouth. She needn't have bothered – Janus had lost all restraint when one red drop, perfect and pure, had fallen from her warm skin. The sight, the smell, the _taste_...

He'd not fed like this in years. Well, he'd never fed quite like_ this_, with a crush of warmth upon him, a magical mer actively encouraging it. The taste was the same as it always was, but somehow made all the sweeter by her...

Feeling rather embarrassed he healed her, pressing the arm away. She had a terrible habit of knocking his feet out from under him, both literally and figuratively, and for once he found himself completely lost as to what to do next.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"Oh hush," she soothed him while casting complex restoration magics upon herself – a cure disease spell. "I did that as much for you as I did for me. And I have no intentions of turning into a vampire, so you don't need to worry about my motives. Besides, I'd make a terrible one. I'd be Thaeril, the one-fanged vampire."

She bared her upper teeth at him and he could see she was missing an eye tooth. Thaeril continued speaking while she curled up against him.

"Vampires don't get new teeth, do they? And if not, what happens to toothless vampires?" She asked absently.

"I don't know. Next time I see one I'll ask," he joked. "What happened to your other fang?"

"I lost it in the war of 398. Senche-raht raiding party attacked my village. I was out of magicka and wasn't fast enough to hide. Caught an arrow in the back of my knee as a result. Fell on a rock and lost a couple of teeth. Praise Y'ffre they were driven back, or else I probably would've ended up on the menu rather than them."

The war in Valenwood during the reign of Jagar Tharn was not a highlight of the Empire's history. Attacked on one side by the Altmer, and the other by the Khajiit, the Bosmer had resorted to some rather unusual methods to defend their territory.

"You ate a..." Janus trailed off, not sure if he wanted an answer to the question that had escaped his lips.

"Khajiit. Yes. But it was either that or starve," she sighed. "What does it matter if the jungle eats a cat or we do? Either way he's already dead. At least this way we didn't join him. Took me five days to walk to the nearest refugee camp."

She fell silent and he kissed the top of her head. It was quite remarkable what one would resort to in order to survive.

"So do you have a scar?" He asked her. Thaeril blinked in surprise.

"A scar? From a roast Khajiit?" Her curious questions made him chuckle.

"No, from the arrow," he clarified. She unwound herself, her luxurious warmth spreading along the length of his body as she stretched out. Her hot breath, scented of honey and whispering of sensuality, brushed over his cheek.

"Now that is a question you'll have to find the answer to yourself," she replied, words floating along with the cadence of Valenwood, speaking of jungle streams and giant trees, of sights unseen and idle daydreams.

Janus was more than willing to lose himself in search of answers, to drift along in a mysterious sea of Wood Elf.


	8. Honey

The voices and scents mingled in the air, demanding recognition. Woodsmoke, leather, mortality, and...honey. Such a sweet fragrance, still clinging to him, the delicate scent of the Bosmer dancing across his skin.

Trying to shake off the heady memories of last night, as well as this morning, Janus closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself. Smiling like a fool may be something Empresses could get away with, but he was the Count of Skingrad. Such actions did not befit his station.

"Tweh," the mumbled voice beside him made him open his eyes. Makela was smiling at him, held up by a mer with an inscrutable grin.

"No, Sera. That's not a tweh," Fathis corrected her. "That's an insufferable child of a noble. Can you say insufferable child of a noble?"

She couldn't quite manage that, but she was able to grab Janus' finger.

"You're in fine spirits today. I take it things have been smoothed over," Janus stated while glancing around. As he expected Gwendolyn was looking at him from her seat beside Millona, but he was not expecting the expression on her face. A small smile played on her lips as their eyes met, and then much to his surprise she looked away, resuming her conversation.

Which was terribly unsettling, because he had a strong suspicion that the witch somehow _knew_. Except that surely couldn't be possible.

"Of course. Martin even apologized for his behaviour," Fathis answered.

"Apologized? What did he say?" That didn't sound right. Janus was certain the Emperor had more than enough reasons to give the Telvanni a cold shoulder every now and again.

"I believe his words were that he was sorry the situation had arisen, and that he trusted in future it would not happen again," Fathis clarified with a grin. Makela, meanwhile, had begun gnawing gently on Janus' finger. "She's got another tooth coming in. Maybe your cold hands are good for something after all."

"Hmm," he murmured while casting a small shield spell on the commandeered hand. The future Empress could chew to her heart's content without hurting him. Too bad the magic didn't protect him from the drool though. "Perhaps Martin is learning a thing or two about politics."

"Yes, it's always wise to defer to a Telvanni," the mer added.

"No, it's not that. I was just musing that he managed to reprimand you without you realizing it. He's certainly come a long way from a hesitant Priest of Akatosh," Janus replied calmly. The Dark Elf's smile faded as he reconsidered the Emperor's words.

The loud noise as the door to the salon was shoved open spared the mer from trying to come up with a response. Lilia stepped into the room, eyes fixed to her husband as he sat with Baurus near the fire, one of her arms outstretched towards the hallway.

"Oh my, I think he forgot to tell her," Fathis murmured while coating himself and Makela in a strong shield spell. Not understanding why, but not wanting to wait to find out, Janus did the same.

"_The mudcrab colour of your flowing hair_..." Much to Janus' horror Martin began reciting Lyra's new sonnet.

"Almsivi save us, not again," Fathis muttered. "I don't know what is wrong with them, but this new game of theirs is torture to the rest of us."

Lilia didn't say anything - she merely stood still on the spot while glaring at Martin.

"_The gleam of light in your enchanting eyes, such purity can not spring any lies_..." Martin trailed off, confused by her lack of response.

"Normally she's silenced him by now," Fathis whispered. "I've heard those opening lines so many times they haunt me in my dreams."

"_Make me believe that you will always care_?" The Emperor was standing, trying to figure out why Lilia was giving him that look, as it clearly had nothing to do with poetry. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing is wrong. In fact, things couldn't be better," she answered sarcastically, her hand still pointed out the door. "Really, when I woke up this morning I thought I'd like nothing more than a nice, warm, _hug_."

"Oh no," Martin blanched. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it would..."

"Yes, it did," she snapped, stepping further into the room. A fire elemental crept along after her, arms reaching to grab her, held back with telekinesis. "I thought we had an agreement. You were to tell me if you made another elemental. After what happened with the storm atronach..."

"I bought you a new dress," he protested softly. "Don't do it. Fathis said we could fix it..."

"Did he?" Lilia glared over at the Dark Elf. "What did you say?"

"I merely said it was probable that an elemental could be corrected in its thinking by a powerful enough wizard," the mer replied, unfazed by her annoyance.

"Bloody half-answers," she muttered darkly to Martin. "I keep telling you not to take anything he says at face value. He's a Telvanni."

"I'll dismiss it," Martin offered. She shook her head, her frown turning into a cruel smile. "Lilia, don't."

"We had a bargain. You'd warn me before you tried making atronachs, and I'd not practice elemental magic in the Palace. But as you failed to uphold your part..."

Martin sighed heavily at the swirls of frost now circling around the elemental. The glittering magic, containing the bitter chill of winter, the frigid gales of the north, and the biting damage of ice, trapped the atronach inside a whirling vortex of cold. With a pulse Lilia sent the powerful spell into the creature, freezing the fire elemental solid.

The incongruous sight of frozen flame lasted a mere moment before shattering, pebbles of ice scattering across the floor. Sodden patches appeared in the thick carpet as the pieces started to melt.

"Look what you've done to the rug," Martin scolded her lightly.

"It's just water." Her voice contained a teasing note. "It'll dry perfectly fine. Watch."

Lilia sent a gentle warmth into the carpet, evaporating the moisture. Meanwhile Martin stepped beside her and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. For some reason she lost control of her spell, and the acrid scent of singed wool drifted up from the newly burnt patch on the floor.

That was the moment Ocato happened to step into the room. Janus had never seen such an expression before that conveyed so many meanings - mild horror, weary resignation, disapproval, and a hint of amusement.

"Tweh!" Makela burbled, waving Janus' damp finger up and down with delight.

"Yes, tweh!" Fathis parroted back to her. "Tweh!"

"Tweh! Tweh!" She was wiggling now, happily chatting nonsense at Ocato as he moved over to greet Millona. The Altmer was giving Fathis a very curious look.

"She told you, didn't she?" Janus asked, pondering how best to clean his hand of baby slobber. He wasn't sure if it would stain his velvet jacket.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Fathis murmured, his inscrutable grin once more on his face. "I'm merely encouraging the child to speak. And if she's chosen to give him a name, then I shall not discourage the practice."

"Hey there, babe. Are you entertaining our guests?" Lilia greeted her nattering daughter as she joined them, having left Martin in peace. She bent in to give Makela a kiss on the head. "Blowing spit bubbles at them isn't considered good form."

A cloth, pulled from somewhere among the draping folds of her gown, appeared to wipe off Makela's face. Spotting Janus' gleaming finger Lilia didn't pause in her movements, absently cleaning his hand off as well. "Honestly child, you're behaving like a savage. We do not chew on our friends."

"You're improving. A few more decades and you'll be skilled enough to warrant the name Telvanni," Fathis complimented Lilia. "But you really should try not to make such a mess with your spells."

"I'm out of practice. It'll be nice to get out to Morrowind. Which type of magic is most effective on cliff racers?" She asked with a wicked smile.

"Frost spells," the mer answered while shifting Makela to his other arm.

"Then I shall have to use firebolts." Lilia looked positively delighted with the thought. She smiled at Janus while curtsying. "Count Hassildor, your noble presence greatly enhances my humble home. Welcome."

"It is an honour to be invited to enjoy such charming hospitality," he replied, unable to prevent a hint of a smile as he bowed. "You're getting an early start on your diplomacy. Is everything prepared for tonight?"

"Yes. The ambassadors will be feted and feasted once more. Praise the Nine for dancing. At least it breaks up all the politically important small talk," she answered. "Remarkable how much more gets accomplished at a party than a meeting."

"The mysteries of politics," Janus added. The now intimately familiar scent of Bosmer drifted by in the air as Thaeril entered the room. To his utter surprise the Empress next to him_chirped _at the new arrival. The ridiculous noise was returned by Thaeril as she walked over to join them.

"Very good. You want to trill a bit more at the end," Thaeril instructed as the two women exchanged a friendly embrace. The Bosmer moved over to Fathis, giving him a strange half-hug in greeting while squeezing Makela at the same time. And to Janus' complete consternation she gave him a hug as well, heedless of the way he stiffened in protest.

"Hiding in plain sight," she whispered at him. "Very discreet."

Fathis was staring at Thaeril, indignation, horror, and amusement fighting for dominance in his expression. Meanwhile Lilia merely blinked a few times, her face impassive, before speaking to distract attention away from the inappropriate greeting.

"I'm learning some basic Impish," Lilia explained to Janus. "All of the important terms at least. Hello, goodbye, and..." she chirped once more, a guttural note to the noise. He recognized the sound as the one Pelagius had made at him. So that's what it meant.

Makela began trying to imitate the noise, causing Lilia to laugh. "At least the only things she can insult in their own tongue right now are Imps. Let's hope she doesn't pick up any interesting Dunmeri words in Morrowind."

Makela's little hands were prying at Fathis' arm, feet kicking as she started trying to get free. The odd noises she made - a combination of vocalizations and trills - did nothing to dispel the impression of a wingless annoyed imp.

"Martin, come and get your daughter. Lady Scriblet needs a walk," Lilia called out while removing Makela from Fathis, the girl a whirl of waving fists and wiggling legs.

"Why is she my daughter when she gets excited?" He asked as he left his comfortable seat by the fire.

"Because she's got your divine blood in her. The fire ants are all your fault," Lilia replied while handing off Makela. Her answer made no sense to Janus, but Martin laughed heartily at the reply.

"Scriblet?" Thaeril asked, watching as Martin removed Makela back to his seat. Setting her down she grabbed hold of his pants and stood, burbling nonsense while dancing on the spot.

"She's worse than trying to keep hold of a greased scrib when she gets wound up," Lilia explained. Satisfied with the response Thaeril made her polite excuses to go greet the others.

"What did you expect, giving her a name like that? Now if you'd given her a proper name, one that reflects her noble heritage..." Fathis stated, watching in shocked delight as Thaeril proceeded to make her way around the room, hugging everyone she'd met before.

"Makela is a very noble name. And I was not about to name her Katariah, no matter how much you suggested it," Lilia replied, looking on as Baurus received the Wood Elf's physical greeting.

"Katariah. Such a wise, and beautiful, Empress. If only you'd seen her..." Fathis trailed off as Thaeril approached Ocato. The mer burst into silent laughter, a small spell masking his amusement as the Altmer tried very hard to keep the Bosmer away from himself while maintaining his dignity.

"While I'm glad she's picked up on the custom, I'm afraid she's applying it all wrong," Lilia murmured. "And I do apologize for her...forwardness towards you."

"Oh?" Janus asked, worried that somehow Lilia also _knew_. Surely she'd never let him live that down. The last thing he wanted was to constantly discourse on the relative merits of Bosmeri cuisine.

"The _hug_," she whispered, leaning in close to him. "When I told her about you and your unique nature I did it so she wouldn't be frightened of you. Perhaps I was a bit too effective in downplaying your danger. I think I shall have a little chat with her and see if I can fix things."

"Must you?" Fathis asked, managing to get himself back under control. "Think of the amusement."

"I will not have Thaeril alienate the High Chancellor merely for your enjoyment," Lilia scolded gently. "Oh dear, you'll have to excuse me. Not that again..."

Lilia moved away, distracted by Makela's attempts to pull Martin's shoe laces up to her mouth. As the little girl floated away from the desired goal she burst into tears, interrupting Martin's conversation with Baurus.

"She's not anywhere as amusing as she used to be since she became a mother." Fathis murmured once Lilia was out of range, busy trying to soothe Makela while chastising Martin for his choice in footwear. She kept going on about resisting temptation. "Really, think of the fun that could be had watching a wall climbing Court Wizard with a penchant for hugs."

Janus didn't reply, instead choosing to give Fathis his best disdainful glare. As always, the mer chuckled at the sight. Insufferable giggling Telvanni.

"Oh, do you remember that conversation we had about you back in Bruma?" The Dunmer asked, before dissolving into laughter. Janus continued to glare as he waited for the mer to compose himself. "As if you and Thaeril would ever..."

Janus sighed as Fathis finally lost it. Watching the mer laugh until he started cursing his sore muscles Janus found it very difficult to keep the smile from his lips.  
_  
Hiding in plain sight_. The imp of a Bosmer had managed to find a way to convince everyone that nothing was going on between them while sneaking in a little body contact. What an ingenious little mer. She certainly was something he'd never expected, and more fun that he'd ever imagined.


End file.
